Park XX's Confession 5
When my wife felt the man press in close behind her again, she tried to shift her footing, looking for somewhere else to stand.
But inside a train packed shoulder to shoulder, there was nowhere left to escape.
The man clung to her back with dogged persistence, refusing to let her go.
In the end she gave up on moving and had no choice but to endure him.
He pressed his lower body flush against her rear once more and began slowly grinding his cock against her.
Having done it once already, he found the cleft of her ass on the first try this time.
He nestled his shaft into the groove between her cheeks and started rocking his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm. His hot, excited breath spilled against the nape of her neck, and she kept turning her head aside as if to get away from it.
The sight seemed to drive him wilder still; he began rubbing harder, faster, more aggressively.
He ground into her with such force that she was shoved forward again and again, forced to grab the overhead handrail just to keep her balance.
And because she braced herself on that rail, his grinding only became easier.
He no longer needed to hold her hips with his hands. He could keep his cock pressed snug between the cheeks of her ass without any help at all.
Against her will, she was holding her hips steady for him—making it simple for him to rub himself off on her. From a certain angle, it almost looked as if she were the one clamping his cock in the cleft of her ass and working him.
Fully worked up now, the man shoved the phone he'd been pretending to look at into his pocket and settled in to grind in earnest.
When she still showed no reaction to such open groping, he seemed to take it as permission—his confidence only grew.
For a second he flicked a glance my way, checking whether I was watching. I deliberately turned my eyes aside and pretended not to notice.
Reassured, his hand drifted toward her rear.
At first I thought he meant to fondle her ass. That wasn't it.
He started easing the hem of her skirt upward, little by little.
The skirt that had barely covered her knees was drawn slowly higher, and her full, springy thighs, sheathed in flesh-toned stockings, began to come into view.
Is he actually trying to strip her skirt off in public?
His boldness startled me enough that for a moment I worried I ought to intervene after all.
But the filthy desire writhing deep in my chest held me back. The truth was I was desperate to see what he would do to her next.
This time my wife looked thoroughly flustered as well. She turned her head and looked toward me.
I avoided her eyes and pretended to be absorbed in my phone, completely ignoring the pleading, desperate look she was giving me.
At last she gave up and dropped her head.
Even with her husband standing right in front of her, she was getting no help at all—and the despair of it seemed to settle over her completely.
Before long her skirt had been hiked high enough that both of those plump, firm thighs were fully exposed. The band of her flesh-toned stockings peeked from under the raised hem.
What had been a knee-length skirt was now shorter than a miniskirt—reduced to little more than a scrap of fabric barely covering her ass.
Once he had the length he wanted, the man licked his lips and took a moment simply to admire the view from behind.
That explosive ass straining against the shortened skirt, the long, sleek legs in sheer stockings, the dizzying high heels—the whole composition of her.
Then, as if he couldn't hold himself back another second, he unzipped his pants.
I truly hadn't expected him to pull his cock out right there on the train. I was stunned.
The size of it, to be honest, was nothing special.
But then again, a big cock would have been a liability for a man like him. Something large would have been far too easy for other people to notice.
A modest size could be hidden easily enough with nothing more than a cupped hand.
Just as I expected, he covered his stiff cock with his hand and slowly closed the distance again.
Then he slid it in between those bare, fully exposed thighs beneath her skirt.
Because she was wearing heels, her ass was tilted up, and he had no trouble finding the right angle.
His cock pushed into the space between her thighs and settled right beneath her pussy—as if she were holding him clamped there between her legs.
If she hadn't been wearing panties and stockings, he would have felt the soft flesh of her cunt directly against him.
Even so, simply having his cock trapped between her thighs seemed to be more than enough for him.
A look of pure rapture on his face, he began rocking his hips slowly back and forth.
The cock wedged in her crotch started its steady thrusting, and the rough texture of the stockings must have given him a fierce jolt of sensation—his whole body shuddered more than once.
Once again he had no need to hold her by the hips.
She was gripping the handrail and bracing herself so she wouldn't be shoved forward, and that was all the help he required. Moving his pelvis was enough.
While he took his pleasure, there was one more thing my wife had to worry about.
Every time his cock slid back and forth, the hem of her skirt kept riding higher. If she left it alone, it would have rolled all the way to her waist and left her ass completely bare.
With one hand she clutched the bottom edge of the skirt, desperately trying to keep it from climbing any further.
Her face was flushed a deep red, her lip caught lightly between her teeth as she held on—and the expression on her was lewd beyond endurance.
I don't know how many minutes passed before, as if her strength were failing, she turned her head slightly toward him.
Then, biting down hard on her lower lip, she whispered in a tiny voice.
"...H-hurry."
Her voice was so soft I couldn't catch it clearly, but from the shape of her mouth I was certain she had said hurry.
She was begging him to come already.
Apparently she had decided the only way out of this mortifying, impossible situation was for him to finish quickly and leave of his own accord.
After that she turned her head toward him several more times, whispering in the same pleading tone.
"H-hurry... please..."
As if he understood, he started thrusting his cock back and forth even faster.
His lower belly slapped against her ass with every stroke, shoving her body forward in a regular, rhythmic jolt.
"Haa... haa..."
She let out soft little breaths, fighting with everything she had not to lose her balance.
The sight of her like that drove him over the edge. Suddenly he grabbed both of her thighs with his hands and squeezed them inward.
The gap between her slightly parted legs closed until not even a sheet of paper could have slipped through.
The pressure on the cock trapped in her crotch must have intensified dramatically.
The soft give of her pussy lips, the scratchy drag of the stockings, the springy firmness of her thighs—all of it together would have felt, I imagine, like burying himself in a particularly tight onahole.
"Hnh... hnh..."
His breathing grew rougher and rougher.
My wife seemed to understand what he wanted. She crossed her stocking-clad legs just a little, clamping down even harder around his cock.
"Hhk—"
At some point a short, choked sound escaped him, and the motion of his hips stopped.
His body gave a small, involuntary twitch—he was coming, I was sure of it.
A pale, cloudy stream of his semen ran down the inside of her thigh.
The moment he finished, he jerked back, stuffed his cock inside his zipper, and left without so much as a glance behind him.
Once he was gone, my wife quickly wiped away the come sliding down her inner thigh with her hand, then pulled a handkerchief from her handbag and cleaned herself more thoroughly.
As if on cue, the train arrived at our destination, and she hurried out through the doors.
When she saw me following a moment later, she smiled as if nothing at all had happened.
I played along, feigning innocence.
"Honey, are you okay? Why are you sweating so much?"
"Hmm? There were so many people on the subway—I guess it got a little hot."
"Really? Sorry. Maybe we should have just taken a taxi."
"No, it's fine. But I really need to use the restroom."
She held her handbag in front of her skirt, doing her best to hide her stocking-clad legs behind her.
She looked anxious—probably terrified that the man's semen had left some stain on the fabric over her inner thighs.
When she came back from the restroom, her face looked considerably more at ease.
But she had taken the stockings off.
"Honey, weren't you wearing stockings?"
"Hmm? Oh—it was too hot, so I just took them off."
"Aw. You look sexy in stockings. I liked that."
"Is that so? Well then, we can buy a new pair somewhere."
"Huh? What about the ones you had on earlier?"
"There was a little run in them, so I just threw them away."
Apparently she couldn't stand the thought of keeping on stockings that still carried so much of that man's trace.
Even if she had wiped the come from her inner thighs, the part of the stockings that had been pressed right against her pussy must still have been soaked with his semen.
I swallowed the pang of regret that rose in my chest and smiled brightly at her.
"Shall we go, then?"
"Okay."
She linked her arm through mine and gave me a wide, sunny smile.