House of Shemales

My name is Alicia, a 26 year old transexual from London England and I don’t
own a car. I mean, what’s the point? You can’t get anywhere in London on 4
wheels anyway and we have the tube so that’s the way choose to travel.

And its on a dull and dismal Friday that I find myself on the tube again,
in tears.

I had just left my boyfriends flat in central London after a spectacularly
crap lovemaking session, well it was crap for me but I suspect he quite
enjoyed it. I blew him for about 15 minutes and then settled my pussy over
his average sized cock and rode him. I know he doesn’t like to wear a
condom and I’m pretty sure he fucks around with any number of people (men,
women and other transexuals like me so I always make sure I wear a femidom
inside me just so I don’t catch anything nasty.

Anyway, after bouncing on top of his dick for ages getting myself all
worked up towards what promised to be a rather large and explosive orgasm I
suddenly feel him grab hold of my hips and pull me back onto him, tense up
and shoot his cum deep into my pussy (you’d call it my ass or bum or
bumhole but since I am pre-op, I call it a pussy). He was holding me so
tight I couldn’t move and I felt my own orgasm draining away leaving me so
unsatisfied and wanting.

He relaxed for a few minutes and then almost hurled me from him once his
cock had shrunk enough to fall from me.

“Thanks doll, that was fantastic”

Doll??!? … DOLL!!!!! What did he think this was, the 1940’s?????

So I lost it, I blew, I went postal (for the benefit of our American
cousins) and all I saw was his stupid face staring back at me in total
incomprehension as to why I was so upset.

“well if you weren’t so good at giving head maybe I could have lasted a bit
longer and given you your precious “orgasm”” he even had the gall to do the
double quotes in the air with his fingers, fingers that I suddenly realised
had never touched my tender intimate spots, never even stroked my neck. The
most romantic or pleasurable thing he had done with those fingers was the
old come hither signal to say he wanted sex.

Well fuck you Paul, or more precisely, I am not fucking you anymore Paul.

I stormed out taking no time to dress properly (knickers in hand bag) nor
remove the cum filled femidom from my pussy. As I walked down the hall I
could hear him saying “you’ll be back, you can’t live without me”.

It was pure anger that drove me on, anger that I knew wouldn’t last so I
willed it to last long enough to reach the tube station at Holborn to pick
up the central line back to Stratford. I was barely aware of the sheer
number of passengers and my anger lasted just long enough to get to the
platform and then the sadness and loneliness set it I felt tears welling up
in my eyes so I put on my sunglasses to hide from everyone else.

The train comes, the customary shuffle of letting people off before the
throng of people cram themselves into these speeding tubes of death waiting
to happen. None of this matters however as I try to hold myself
together. Why did he have to be such a shit, a thoughtless heartless total
and utter shit. Damn why was he like that, why was I so in love with
him. The hormones I had been taking for the past couple of years had not
only softened my skin and hair, it had also softened my heart. I felt a
deep longing to be loved, or at least if not loved then at least a
appearance of it.

I tried to block out the thoughts of him, think about something else, think
of something that isn’t going to make you cry.

And then there was something, something that came out of the blue and
something I had never expected. A hand was on my ass. I don’t know who the
owner of the hand was but it was definitely a hand and it was definitely on
my ass. In the press of people I hadn’t noticed this very intimate
pressure. Maybe it was an accident, maybe there was nowhere else for the
hand to go.

I tried to move a little, enough for the owner of the hand to reposition to
a less intrusive location but it didn’t. It followed me as if glued to my
long black skirt. Then it squeezed. Yes, definite squeezing, I was sure
because it happened again. My instinct was to turn, find the owner and
berate him for molesting me on a packed tube train but for some reason I
didn’t.

Instead I did something that I still don’t believe today, I let him carry
on. Maybe the memory of my recent failed orgasm was so fresh in my mind
that my hormones were over ruling my sense of decency and then I started to
press back. His hand paused for a moment and then resumed his caressing. I
realised that I was incredibly turned on by his actions and I started
moving my butt in movements to increase my pleasure. Slowly I reached
behind me to cup what I hoped was his groin (not the groin of a totally
innocent person who happened to be crammed into the same location) and was
relieved to find a long hard bulge in the mans trousers.

I felt my skirt being inched upwards, sliding up the back of my legs. Being
a long and flared skirt I surmised that he could probably expose my whole
ass without anyone else noticing as long as he kept close. As if reading my
mind I felt him press harder into me and still the skirt rose. I felt it
pass the backs of my knees, then the tops of my thighs then this fingers
were touching bare flesh, my flesh.

His long gentle fingers began exploring the crack of my ass and I relaxed
my thighs to allow him better access, no sooner had I done that I felt one
finger press against my pussy, noting the protruding femidom and worm its
way inside my love hole. The initial penetration made me go weak at the
knees, an action which only f****d more of his finger inside me. He started
fucking me with one finger whilst I pressed back harder and harder onto it.

All of a sudden I reached a state of mind that I wanted not just his
fingers inside me, I wanted his cock. I unzipped his fly and fumbled inside
his trousers for his now very hard meat. I figured it to be bigger than any
cock I had so far experienced, both in girth and length. That fact was born
out when I felt his finger withdraw and be replaced by the blunt head of
his cock against my willing hole. He pressed into me, I pressed back, the
femidom, lubricated by my ex lovers cum gave way easily and my pussy opened
to him.

Further and further did I stretch to encompass this enormous head until a
jerk of the train finished the job, I felt the head pop past my sphincter
and glide inside me almost without pause or hindrance. I almost came on the
spot and had to lean back into him to retain my balance. The movement of
the train worked with us, his cock moving around inside me drove me crazy
and I felt my clit buzzing with passion and desire, the orgasm denied me
not 15 minutes before came back to me and by the feel of it, it brought
friends.

This only went on for maybe a minute but everything about this whole
sexually supercharged encounter had me withering in this mans power and I
could do nothing but let the exploding freight train of an orgasm wash over
my body.

My pussy clamped down on the invading cock as it hit, my legs went from
underneath me and I was being held up my the enormous appendage buried in
my core, a whimper escaped from my lips luckily drowned out by the noise of
the tube and my body shook. I felt also the head inside me flare as the
unmistakeable pumping of a cock cumming in my pussy.

We stayed like that for a minute as the rest of the carriage swam back into
focus and his cock started to wilt inside me. The delicious feeling of the
train stopping and pushing the remainder of his cock in me almost set me
off again and I probably would have done it again if I hadnt noticed the
station we had just entered was mile end and only 1 stop from my
destination. I moved away from him and felt the warm air caress my
buttocks, just far enough for his cock to leave my warm embrace and my
skirt to fall back into place.

I reached into my bag for one of my cards and then reached behind to tuck
him back safely into his trousers and zip him up again, palming my card
into his trouser pocket. This last manoeuver took the whole time between
stations and we parted. I stepped off the train without a single glance
back and strode confidently towards the gates, soon lost in the throng of
travellers.

I noticed I was not crying anymore and couldn’t care less about Paul, had
anyone looked at me they would have seen a silly little smirk of the cat
who got the cream and since I’d left my card with him, it was up to him now
and I felt an extra spring in my step.

So ladies, if you want to get over a man, I can whole heartedly recommend
fucking a random stranger on a tube train. It works wonders …

This story is pure fantasy, it did not happen … as much as I’d like it
to.