FlightofFancy's Blog

A big chunk of my thirties and forties was spent at sea. Whilst the 'girl in every port' is largely myth, it's still a bunch of folk in an inhospitable environment a long way from home. I have LOTS of stories! If you enjoy this one leave me a comment and I'll tell another.

I used to work on a small training vessel. We only had a very small crew and would spend each week training a team of visiting mariners. One week we had a charter from the Army, a major, a lieutenant and a gang of lower ranks. The major was a female about my age.

My skipper was a bit full of himself, the kind of guy who thought he was attractive to anyone. He kept creating situations where he could hopefully be alone with the major. She reacted by spending a lot of time in my part of ship, using me as some kind of informal chaperone.

The final evening before disembarkation, the visitors went ashore with the skipper and a few of the crew. To get me out of the way the skipper gave me duty. As the only senior enlisted on board I couldn't exactly say no, but it was a relaxed ship and I knew I could basically spend the time in the gym.

So when they get back, I'm showered and clean and sitting in the wardroom. That's a kind of common room for - in this case - officers and senior enlisted. The major sits at the end of the table. I’m already sitting on the long side of the table so she's at right angles to me, facing the captain who's at the far end. The room was full of army guys and crew, but only the chief engineer could see what happened due to the angle of the seating.

She makes like she's more drunk than she is, leaning forward against the edge of the table, one arm above and one below the table edge. Chatting perfectly normally, she starts by hooking her thigh under my knee and lifting my leg towards her. Then she slides her hand up the leg of my shorts and into the mesh inner.

So I end up sitting with my cock in this fit senior officer's hand, my buddy able to tell what she's doing while she flirts with the skipper. It was that double entendre kind of flirting where a woman is either giving the guy a come on, or taking the piss. With my cock in her hand I suspected I knew which it might be.

Now I had been reading just before this started, so although joining in the chat to a degree, I was able to sit quite quietly and ‘read’ while she gently jacked me off. When I finally - silently - came, she slid her hand out and ‘sneezed’. That gave the chief engineer a chance to pass her some napkins for her to wipe her hand.

She smiled, got up and bid us goodnight.

I’m not sure it really counts as a LOT of people, but I have definitely been seen wetting myself in public. It's a marmite activity really - folk are either interested or repulsed. If you're interested, great. Read on. If you're not I'm sorry but this post, whilst pretty vanilla in the greater scheme of things, is probably not for you.
My partner and I are keen mountaineers, and spend a couple of weekends a month out in the mountains, work schedules permitting. We like to watch each other pee, and doing it in the complete freedom of the outdoors when nobody’s around is the best fun. It doesn’t always lead to sex, but frequently does.

On the occasion I’m thinking of it was a hot sunny day and we’d just got back to the roadside after a long and quite challenging climb. I was bursting to pee, so my girl said if I wanted to she would hold it for me. Not being one to miss that kind of opportunity, I immediately unzipped!

So we’re standing by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees, the air hot and still, and I let out a huge never ending stream of hot piss. My girl’s holding my cock, foreskin drawn back, directing the flow. Needless to say, I’m getting harder and harder with each passing second.

At about the time I reach full hardness, my pee forcing itself out through my tightening urethra muscles, a car rolls past! Not just any car either. A Mercedes convertible, cruising downhill, making almost no noise, the sole occupant being a rather fine looking woman in her early thirties.

We were in our late forties at the time but fit and well preserved. In our opinion, decent to look at. In the hundred yards or so from the bend in the road to where we were standing, the vehicle slowed to a near crawl. She passed us with a huge smile on her face, kept looking at us over her shoulder until it got dangerous to do so, then sped up and disappeared. My girl held onto my cock with me peeing the whole time.

And yeah, the sex afterwards was amazing!

Before we got married, my ex and I would text each other as I travelled about. Long back and forth debates about how, when and where we would next see each other. I suppose that’s polite code for when we would next fuck.

One of the things I always wanted to know was what knickers she had on that day. I’m not some kind of fetishist, I just liked to imagine her going about her day, naked except for a pair of knickers. I’d encourage her to buy and wear top class undies, comfy for all day wear yet colourful and sexy to look at - I hate grey knicks on a girl.

All that died away a bit when we got together full time. I missed it, felt that something was missing in our lives. So one day I sent her a text as I drove away, asking her if her bloke had gone to work yet. Once she worked out the game, we developed an entire fantasy life as if we were having an affair with our secret selves.

This went on for several months until one day she suggested something even I would never have thought of, and we ended up booking into a travelodge on the edge of the city for an afternoon tryst! After that we’d get away for the day once every month to six weeks, usually but not always to the same place. Not often enough to be ‘regulars’, but frequently enough for the staff to get the idea that we were their ‘afternoon couple’.

Now we weren’t porn stars. We were your average thirtysomething couple. I was six foot, fit but not fanatically so, dark straight hair, glasses, usually wearing a plain dark suit. She was a couple of years older, about five four, curvy, heavy breasted with rich dark copper hair and pale skin. She would dress slightly sexily, if that makes sense. Not tarty, but a cut above the average - not a housewife meeting friends, more a businesswoman meeting a colleague.

We had developed a ritual. Just as I liked her to tell me what knickers she was wearing, she liked to show me. Sometimes just a little flash in the car park. If she got there first (I was ‘at work’ after all… she would wait until she was so randy she didn’t want her lunch any more and then just slip them off and hand them to me. If the restaurant was busy, she’d do that in the loo, but if it was quiet she’d either do it sitting at the table or - heavens above - she’d stand up and let me reach under her skirt and slip them down.

It’s the Terry Pratchett principle. If you saw Death walking down the street - an eight foot skeleton with black cloak, scythe and twinkly blue eyes - you’d scream for the rest of your natural life, right? So your brain tunes it out, tells you that can’t be right - it can’t have happened, therefore it didn’t. I once took my woman’s knickers off in the middle of a crowded Starbucks on a summer’s afternoon and nobody even glanced over. Of course you’ve got to pick your moment - never work with kids and animals, etc.

So this day it’s a gorgeous ivory thong with a lovely lacy front panel to match the bra I could just see under her white blouse.She sits down, we eat our main course. I’ve got the heat from her pussy burning a hole in my hand. I raise my cupped hand to my nose, it’s like thrusting my face into her crotch. The smell from her knicks is so intense. She’s clearly soaking wet. The knickers certainly were.

I put them down to finish my food. The waitress comes over, clears the table. Takes the knickers! Shit! they were expensive!! Waitress returns carrying dessert menus, blushing to the root of her hair. She can’t be much more than eighteen, stammering, not meeting my eye, looking at my woman like she’s hoping she’ll save her from an awful fate. The yearning ‘help me, help me’ look.

We finish our meal, leave a bigger than normal ‘you poor thing’ tip and head for our room. We manage the lift before my tongue is down her throat, my hands inside her wraparound, fingers slipping in her molten cunt. We made it to the room without getting arrested, laughing and giggling, all over each other.

Now I’d already made a plan for this afternoon, and the lunchtime events hadn’t changed my mind. My woman liked to be treated firmly - sorted of dominated but not quite that strong - and I loved to look. I planned to combine the two by getting her naked, wanking for her and cumming all over her in front of the full length hotel room mirror. We didn’t have anything like that at home, so this was fantasy fulfillment day. She loved seeing me wank, getting cum over, so she was happy with the plan when I explained. In point of fact, she offered me her scarf and suggested I tie her hands. All good so far!

So I’m standing over her, rubbing my erection on her face. I’m alternating between smiling into her eyes and staring open mouthed at the porn show in the mirror. The love of my life giving her mouth to some big hairy bloke with the hardest dick on the planet. Her E-cups are high on her chest with her shoulders arched by the scarf at her wrists, the curve of her belly full and inviting. Her buttocks and thigh muscles are tightly defined as she wriggles around. All I can smell is her arousal.

And then there is a knock at the door. Oh boy. Passion killer. So I leave the scene set, pull on the hotel dressing gown and answer the door, blocking the view with my body. Judging by my woman’s Very Hard Nipples, she’s happy with that risky arrangement.

It’s the bloody waitress. You couldn’t make it up, could you? Younger than my woman’s oldest. Nearly my height. A bit gothic with long black hair and spandex mini skirt and those clumpy boots the goths like. So nervous she’s almost unable to speak. So I say hello, ask if anything’s the matter. She says she thinks we might have forgotten something, and holds out her hand.

I don’t take it straight away. Instead, I step more into the corridor. I’m properly wrapped - this is someone’s daughter after all - but my erection is tenting the front of the gown. I ask her quietly if she’s sure. Still not meeting my eyes, she nods. So I take what she’s holding. They’re red, light nylon almost like pantyhose yet so small they barely qualify as knickers. I’m so surprised I just stare at her.

“Um”, she mutters, “Is there something wrong? You smelled the last ones.” Feeling like I’m sleepwalking, I stare at her as my hand lifts to my nose of its own accord. Strong, moist, delicious.

“You’d better come in”, I said. I step back into the room, holding the door for our guest so she gets an eyeful of what’s waiting for her, get rid of the robe and go back to my girl. Taking her head in my hands, I angle her face to suit, and press the tip of my cock to her lips. She welcomes me in, staring into my eyes as she does, a quizzical expression on the bit of her face not distended by erect cock. I go balls deep and pause. The feeling of power is overwhelming.

“So where are ours?” I ask, looking directly at the waitress, who is standing somewhat uncertainly by the foot of the bed. I begin to slowly gently fuck my woman’s mouth. The waitress is transfixed, mouth open. “Please tell me you knew what you might be getting into”, I said, perhaps a bit roughly.

“Oh!”, she says, snapping out of it. “I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t tell if the knickers were a come on, or if you’d just forgotten them. You both looked nice, so I thought I’d come and see. Never done this before, but seeing you doing it right by your table was so hot.”

It was as if she’d woken up, regaining her confidence along the way. She stripped quickly, in a matter of fact sort of way, til she just had her boots and my girl’s thong left. It was too big for her really, but the thought was there. We hadn’t seen a body so young and firm for a very long time. I pulled out of my girl’s willing mouth and we both stared for a moment. The waitress came to us, slipped her arm around my waist and leaned her delicious c-cups against my chest, her other hand on my girl’s hair.

“My turn!” she grinned.

Now I thought I was the luckiest man alive, but how wrong can you be. Slipping between us, she put her other hand on my woman’s head and guided her mouth to a young bare mound. We’d discussed threesomes and bi sex, but my girl had always said she felt it was somehow wrong to have sex with another woman. She took to it without hesitation, eyes hooded with arousal. The waitress - Ethne, local girl with family from Donegal - ground herself against that willing mouth.

Both women had strong orgasms. Ethne against my girl’s face, hard, bucking, crying out. My beautiful woman on my fingers, my hand cupping her from between her buttocks, the muscles of her arse tense and hard as she serviced her new lover, her arms and wrists taught in the bindings, her fingers flexing like the muscles of her very wet cunt. All done with the lightest touches on her clit, no male roughness required.

I did indeed cover my fine woman’s face, chest, hair, tits and thighs with a spray of cum. I was well hydrated and very aroused. There was A Lot. Ethne watched, talking to us as I got close, gently touching herself and my girl’s back as she talked, eyes glittering.

This is not a fantasy. That’s why there are so few names or places mentioned. We shared Ethne for over two years and stayed friends after she found love with a guy her own age. When we split, my ex stayed in touch. Like I said, you couldn’t make it up.

I don't know about you, but the current lockdown is driving me nuts. Even with taking my permitted exercise each day, I'm not getting anything like enough to occupy my mind. A friend of mine suggested doing a bit of creative writing, which sounded like a good idea.
I'm not sure if I could come up with enough genuinely new material, so I've decided to write actual some actual experiences instead - names and places changed, of course. Let me know what you think. Positive comments preferred! 😉

I wasn't a very disciplined youth. To this day I have no real idea why I volunteered for the Army. When it came down to it, I'd had enough of being a boy and wanted a shortcut to manhood. I loved the outdoors and being fit, but had no real idea of the commitment it would ask of me. Leaving college and waiting to go to basic training, I must have been a total pain in the ass.
I was more interested in hanging with my friends, getting the deepest tan possible and maybe - just maybe - losing my virginity. Commitment, hard work and determination were the kind of boring nothingness my D*d used to spout when he wanted to remind me of how much I had to live up to, him being a Sergeant Major and all.
So you can imagine how impressed I was when they came home from Church the first Sunday of the summer break all full of how they had found me a job remodelling the garden for one of our neighbours. Now I liked gardening, and the physical labour would help me with my upper body fitness, but work for a neighbour? Heaven help me, that was one short of slavery.
I went over late the first morning, mostly hoping that if I did a poor job maybe I could get myself fired by lunchtime and still be able to get some pool time before dinner. My folks hadn't told me who the neighbour was, just given me the address, so I was more than a little taken aback when Mrs Coleman answered the door. Mr - no, make that Major - Coleman was my f*ther's boss. All of a sudden things were serious.
On my best behaviour, I apologised for my late arrival, but Mrs Coleman didn't seem bothered. She had a kind of dreamlike quality that made me seriously wonder if she was on something you couldn't get over the counter. The first day she encouraged me to look around, get a feel for the place and come up with some ideas. I couldn't believe my luck - it felt like she had agreed to have me over and pay me to keep out of her way. I knew my old guy could be a bit pushy, but surely I wasn't going to get paid for hiding in the Coleman garden shed because he'd talked them into it?
Looking round, I quickly realised that the Major wasn't in town. He was deployed somewhere warm and his home was suffering because Mrs Coleman was quite clearly not about to achieve much while he wasn't there to support her.
There was lots to do, but I wasn't about to upset my personal gravy train. The first few days I mowed and raked some, but spent most of my time in the potting shed smoking a little weed, reading and of course masturbating. And I did that a lot. Who wouldn't in my situation? I was young, fit and male. I could get it up half a dozen times a day without breaking a sweat and, given the peaceful seclusion of the Coleman garden, that's exactly what I did.
My late teenage self was 6'2", darkly tanned like a Greek or an Italian with a solid square shouldered build and thick, wavy, almost black hair. I say almost because it had chocolatey golden brown streaks which appeared in the sunshine. I had quite a hairy chest which dwindled to a thin stripe of hair at my navel and pretty much disappeared when it reached the base of my cock. I'd discovered the joy of trimming my pubes early on because the alternative was too horrible to contemplate, even in the truly hirsute late seventies!
My preferred method was to take off my shorts and underpants, leaving me with my shirt covering my shoulders but undone at the front. Anyone glancing into the shed window would have thought I was fully dressed. I could then rub my cock in the cool darkness of the shed and happily explode onto the plank floor without worrying too much about Mrs Coleman catching sight of me if she walked across the garden. I loved sitting back in the old armchair, shooting my cum in a thick white fountain into the air and leaving it to pool on my skin until it was time to clean up and get on with another job.
After the first few days I got quite brazen, and would mark each completed gardening task with a quicky. I'd sit in the shade to recover, my cock never seeming to go completely soft. Nobody disturbed me.
"Do you usually spend your breaks half naked?", she said. I nearly jumped straight through the ceiling! Frantically trying to get my shorts up my thighs, stand up and answer her question all at once it was a wonder I didn't knock the glasses of cola clean out of her hands. A lot more sharply alert than at any other time she'd spoken to me, Mrs Coleman had picked a great time to bring me a drink.
She set one glass on a shelf and looked me slowly up and down. Her expression was part humour, part disgust. Her eyes were hard above her slight smirk.
"Get cleaned up and come find me. I'll be in the kitchen", she said. Then she spun on her heel and disappeared, leaving just the faintest hint of her perfume on the air.
Mrs Coleman was nearly my mother's age maybe mid to late thirties. She was a natural redhead, with the pale almost white skin of a northern woman. Like blood on snow, as a certain gifted songwriter once said. About 5'8" she was tall for a female yet looked small next to me or her husband as we were both comfortably over six feet tall. She was curvy too, full at bust and hip yet with her height she had the look of a much slimmer woman. With her long wavy hair falling well below her shoulder, Mrs Coleman was hot enough to truly scare the shit out of me!
Sitting at the breakfast bar in her kitchen, Mrs Coleman was cradling a cup of coffee in her hands and waiting for me. She had on a button through corduroy skirt, a light cotton blouse and a pair of old leather loafers. The skirt was dark chocolate, the blouse cream. She looked relaxed, like she was enjoying my discomfort.
"I don't think there's much explaining you could really do, is there Mike?" she said.She was looking straight at me, I was looking anywhere but at her. I just wanted to die. Any scorn she wanted to heap on me was nothing compared to what my D*d was likely to do.
"No Ma'am", I replied. A whole life lived on Army posts made you respectful of your elders.
"So I'm guessing that my telling anyone how I found you today would pretty much end your chances of just about anything, wouldn't it?" she said. I looked straight at her, puzzled and wary. I wasn't sure how mad she actually was, but that was an odd way to open the conversation.
"Well Ma'am, I guess I have a lot of making up to do. If you're even willing to keep quiet, I'd do anything you want to earn it." I'm not the greatest negotiator, but it's amazing what you'll do to avoid public shame. My ass was hers, and she knew it.
"Okay Mike, I shall give that some thought", she smiled. "In the meantime, I want you to take off all your clothes". I nearly fell over.
"Don't smile", she muttered, jaws clenched, "Don't you dare grin. As of this moment, you owe me. Don't forget that, not for so much as a nanosecond". Her eyes glittered, hard, bright, excited. Green eyes, I noted.
Slipping off her stool, Mrs Coleman walked right up to me and stared me straight in the eyes.
"Strikes me you're not used to rules, young man. Well rules are apparently meant to be broken. I suspect that means that they're negotiable, which of course they are. You can walk out of my house right now and never come back. By the end of this afternoon your life will have changed forever and the shame will be with you for years. Or you can stay right where you are, choose to live by my rules and have adventures. Nothing illegal, but nothing anyone would believe either. Which is it to be?" She wasn't smiling now.
I folded my shirt and laid it on the counter. I laid my shorts and underpants on top, neatly. I unlaced my boots instead of just kicking them off and put them under the counter below my clothes, my socks folded into the left hand boot. My face was so hot it must have been bright red. My now naked cock was completely shrivelled. There was nothing horny about the way I felt at that moment.
Mrs Coleman just stood and watched. As I stood naked and still before her, I began to relax.
"Well done", she smiled. "Please don't forget", she added, "I say you snuck in and stripped off, and you'd be guilty of way more than jacking off in my shed. Still, you took a step in the right direction. I mentioned rules, didn't I", she mused. "Listen carefully. My rules are simple, but if either of us break one, you're done. Understand?" I didn't but I nodded anyway. For the first time I'd met her, Mrs Coleman smiled a genuinely warm smile. I saw that she was having fun, and not at my expense. It wasn't just me who she wanted to have an adventure.
"My rules are this. First, do what you're told when I tell you. Don't hesitate. That rule's about trusting me, okay?" I nodded.
"Second, we will never ever touch each other. Whatever happens, I will do what I choose to do, and so will you, but I'm married and you are, well, a boy. That one's about faithfulness and respect. I'm going to be faithful and you're going to respect it".
I kinda got it. But even with my fertile and truly depraved imagination, I still needed leading. Mrs Coleman was still standing close. I could feel the electricity coming off her, she was so close. Just not touching. I lifted my hand from where they'd been clasped behind my back, and she stepped back.
"No touching." The steel in her tone was palpable.
"Yes Mrs Coleman, I get that", I said. "My skin will never touch yours, you can trust me on that, but you gotta give me some leeway to show you what I can come up with". I grinned, and reached ever so slowly for the top button of her blouse. She stood stock still as I took hold of the button and used it to lift the material away from her skin. Holding the material in one hand, I undid the button with the other. She smiled. I undid the next one, moving slowly so as not to accidentally brush her skin or even her hair with my hand. I knelt down, my knees apart for stability but also to allow my now rock hard erection to swing free without risking touching her with it.
Mrs Coleman looked down the length of her body at my cock, a little smile playing on her lips. I wasn't fresh - I could smell the cum on my skin from earlier - but I couldn't help wondering if she wanted a taste. I undid the blouse and helped her shrug it off her shoulders. She simply dropped it and lifted her hands up behind her head, gathering her hair into a loose bun as she did so. I started at the hem of her button through, working upwards this time. I could hear her breathing change. Careful not to touch, I got to the top button.
"Mrs Coleman", I said softly, "I need some help here. Will you please pull your waistband so I can get the last button open?" She did just that, pulling the waistband tighter, creating just enough slack at the button for me to undo it and keep hold of the material either side. She put her hands back up behind her head, her bra covered breasts lifted and taught as a result. Her nipples peaked easily under the sheer lace of the bra cups, coral pink against her pale skin.
I let go one side of her skirt and it swooshed around her hips and onto the floor. She was wearing matching bra and knickers in a dark wine coloured material with lacy panels at the front. I could see her dark golden pubic hair, trimmed and shaped but still thick and luxurious.
By now I was both outstandingly horny and at a total loss as to how to get any further. I got to my feet and stared at her body. Incredible. Her hands were still behind her head, her breasts thrust up towards me, her shoulders arched. Then it hit me and I walked round behind her.
"Ma'am", I said, "You have an arse to die for". Mrs Coleman giggled, but stood still, waiting. Reaching into the valley of her spine created by her raised arms, I easily unclipped her bra. She dropped her arms and just stood there.
"You're really making me work for this Ma'am", I said. She spun on her heel and stared up at me, angry and visibly horny all at once. Pulling her bra from her breasts, she threw it at me. Then I finally got it. Dropping to my knees again, I barked "Suck your belly in. Hard as you can". The little gaps in her groins (look it up...) were just enough for me to hook my fingertips in and pull the waistband of her knickers away from her skin. Sliding my fingers round over the curve of her hips, I yanked them down in one motion. She shuddered and gasped. "Gotcha!" I thought.
Scrambling to my feet, I indicated the stool.
"Get on there, but keep your feet apart". Mrs Coleman hopped up onto the stool, her buttocks on the seat and the tips of her toes on the floor. All the muscles in her legs were tensed, as were her tummy muscles. The slot of her outer pussy lips was clearly visible through her hair, the inner lips shiny but not yet protruding. I stood between her feet and grasped my cock at the base, my balls in my hand and the shaft pointed straight at her mound. Using my thumb, I rolled the foreskin back making the whole kitchen smell of precum.
Dragging my eyes up her body, I found myself looking into the smiling face of a very aroused woman.
"Match my pace", she said, calmly and clearly, as she reached down with one hand and slid a finger between her lips. The movement changed the aroma in the room. Now all I could smell was wet cunt. I was quite literally salivating.
"You want to taste it, don't you", she smirked. "Well you can't. But you can breathe it in while you jack off. Beats mouldy old garden shed." Her finger began to move, making the rhythmic friction to which we're all so addicted. I matched her, rub for rub, my cock growing even harder, precum drooling from the end. Her inner lips swelled and opened, making her wet fingers look like they were pretty much disappearing inside her. As they worked at her sex, her fingers were slowly coated in a thick layer of juice. Mrs Coleman's now soaked wedding ring glistened in the afternoon sun.
Her tits jiggled as she frigged, the nipples hard and puckered. She stared alternately into my eyes and at my cock, my fist clenched hard around its shaft, the head shiny and moist with precum. Reading my mind, Mrs Coleman reached up with her free hand and squeezed her nipple, lifting her breast and letting it fall back. She grunted each time she did it, her breathing getting steadily more ragged.
It wasn't long before my balls began to tighten, my tummy mucles following suit.
"Does cum count as touching?" I gasped, ready.
"No", she grunted, eyes glazed, totally focused on my cock. Her fingers were a blur, her pussy so wet the noise was a constant squelching.
"Good", I grunted, my hips thrusting forward, my back arching. She yelped when the first spurt hit her, leaving a white weal across the top of her thigh, her pubic mound and her belly. Then she was cumming too, the spasms making her almost double up, her feet leaving the floor, her cries unnaturally loud in the quiet kitchen.
By the time we'd both finished, Mrs Coleman was striped with streak after streak of sperm from her throat to her knees, her tits and belly covered in shiny white marks. We stood opposite each other, slowly regaining our composure. Cum dripped from my cock onto the floor between our feet.
Mrs Coleman licked her fingers, an impish grin on her face.
"I guess we're in this now together, wouldn't you say?", she chuckled.

I've travelled almost my entire working life, mostly as a seafarer. Whilst I've had an amazing time, it meant that meeting - and keeping - someone special has been a real challenge. One of the ways that my wife and I have managed to keep our relationship fresh is through telling stories. It made the miles seem shorter, the separations easier.
I hope you enjoy them as much as we have...

The things you do in the early stages of a relationship tend to set the scene for years to come. One of the things we found out about each other was that we would do it almost anywhere so long as we could do it with each other. One of our favourites - it still is - was disabled lavatories. They’re usually pretty clean, always spacious and private. After a while we found ourselves hunting them out. We’d met quite late on, so nobody seemed to notice the couple in their forties using the loo together.

Working at sea meant that there were times of the year when our time together was limited, so Lisa would sometimes travel to see me either whilst my ship was in dock or between ships when I would sometimes travel the length of the country to join a new one. The joy of the self employed contractor, I suppose. On one occasion she came to London to see me as I headed out to Ramsgate on the Kent coast.

I saw her across the concourse at Victoria Station, her gypsy skirt and high boots marking her out among the commuters.You know that moment when you just want someone, no matter what? I was hard before she even noticed me watching her approach. Her breasts bounced with her steps, moving in time with her rich auburn hair. Sorry if I’m going on a bit - to this day I can’t believe this ultra hot sex object was there to see me.

Light chat, coffee and sandwiches followed. The usual things two lovers do when in public with nowhere to go when they’d rather just get naked but can’t. After a while Lisa suggested we find a loo. It was hard to tell if this was the coffee or the desire talking, so I went with it and we set about looking for one to share. I’d be happy to deal with my erection later so long as my love could relieve the pressure on her bladder.

Nothing doing. This was London in the middle of a working afternoon in high summer. Everywhere was mobbed, and the only disabled facilities we could find were being strictly controlled by the station staff. In our innocence we’d forgotten how popular they must be for shooting up, adolescent encounters, etc etc. Two stations later and she was getting desperate.

Finally, we found a completely empty ladies toilet at the end of a long platform. I offered to wait outside, which just drew a withering glare.

“I didn’t travel all this way for you to get all chivalrous on me. Just keep quiet and we’ll be alright”, she said. Grabbing her hand, I led the way into forbidden territory. We picked a corner cubicle where one side was a blank wall. Less chance of getting noticed.Whilst it might be roomy for one person, it was a tight squeeze for two, so I stood with my back against the door, my bag behind my feet to disguise the fact that I was there.

Man, it was hot in there. I pulled off my shirt to hopefully stop myself sweating too much.Lisa grinned and patted my by now very noticeable bulge. Just at that moment the door banged open and what sounded like an entire busload of young women came in, yelling, laughing talking loudly to each other.Lisa put her finger to her lips and sat back on her seat.

You couldn’t make it up, could you? A grown man trapped in a ladies toilet cubicle in the heat of a summer’s afternoon, his woman sitting on the loo desperate to go.At that very moment, our door rattled.

“Is this one out of order?”, a young voice said, pretty much straight into my ear. Lisa pointed at me with one hand, making the universal ‘hush’ gesture with the other, one finger on her lips.

“No, it’s just occupied!”, she called out. The girl on the other side of the door harrumphed and seemed to move away. To emphasise the point, Lisa let go a strong jet of pee, noisy in the bowl, easily heard above the commotion on the other side of the door.

I couldn’t help myself. There’s just something so incredibly horny about watching my woman pee. Perhaps it’s the taboo aspect. Perhaps it’s the vision inside my head of her wet lips, the moisture coming in a stream like one long squirting orgasm. I don’t know. Either way, I began to rub the bulge in my jeans.

Lisa grinned, and replaced my hand with hers, happily unbuttoning the flies. I was wearing boxers that day, just on the off chance, y’know? As she unbuttoned, my erection emerged all by itself. I’m not long, just average, but thick. It looked brutal in the odd blue light they use to stop the junkies finding their veins.

Her stream had stopped, but the fact that she was now lightly stroking my shaft with her fingertips kept me right at the edge of reason. I was getting light headed from trying not to breathe too noisily. At which Lisa did the unexpected, and took my head between her lips.

I say unexpected because she almost never gives head. It’s not that she doesn’t like it - quite the opposite - it’s that she has an overdeveloped gag reflex and my girth sets her off really easily. Not wanting that to happen, for my own benefit as much as hers, I stood completely motionless.Slowly, painfully deliciously slowly, she slid her lips down my shaft.

It was as if all the noise of the girls on the other side of the door had simply faded away. My entire being was focused on the sensation in my crotch. Lisa hooked her fingers into my flies and pulled the material wider, allowing my balls to emerge. She scraped them with her fingertips as she sucked.

It was clear she wanted me to cum in her mouth. I’d have cum noisily and demonstratively if it hadn’t for the fear of arrest and public humiliation chatting merrily away in the corridor. Holding my breath and keeping stock still intensified it too.

Instead I came in complete silence, the most intense experience in my entire life. My muscles tensed quite literally from the soles of my feet to the backs of my ears. My body arched like a fully drawn longbow, just the tips of my toes and the back of my head touching anything, my cock buried in Lisa’s mouth like an obscene missile pumping juice deep into the back of her throat. My stomach muscles flexed so hard I thought I’d double up over her head.

I held my breath all the while, the blood thumping hard in my temples, my vision blurring, all noise and sensation disappearing apart from in my cock. Incredible.

Lisa held onto the root of my shaft,not only stopping me from ramming it right into her stomach but keeping me still and upright. As I came back to reality I realised that I ached all over from the tension and oxygen deprivation.I grinned. Lisa licked the juice from her lips and grinned back. The girls had begun to leave. We’d managed to hide our moment of depravity in their noisy joyful lives.

And then it happened, the bit I’ve never told anyone, ever. On the other side of the door, so so quiet it was just audible to me, a voice.

“I bet that felt good!”.