There is, in my opinion, nothing hotter than having a very public, if secret orgasm. The fact that people are all around you, yet (assuming you are discreet) blissfully unaware of what is going on right under their noses, heightens the enjoyment of the experience.
I spend a lot of time on trains and planes, travelling for work. Wearing my ben-wa balls can keep me nicely simmering; however nothing, but nothing, helps pass the time on a long journey like a good wank.
Preparation is important. When I’m traveling by train, I like to make sure I’m wearing a skirt for ease of access. Wherever possible, I try to make sure I get a table seat. Once on the train, I open up my laptop, load up a meaningless spreadsheet that I can pretend to work on, drape my coat over my lap for concealment purposes and, once everyone is sitting comfortably, I can begin.
The secret, I believe, is not to make any obvious movements. The naughtiness of the situation is already, for me, a massive turn-on. Just sitting there in the middle of the carriage, “minding my own business” as everyone else minds theirs, will have my cunt soaking in now time.
An occasional movement of the mouse, heightens the illusion that I’m concentrating on my work. In fairness I am, but the work in question is what my fingers are doing to my cunt.
I’ll order a coffee as the trolley goes past; sipping from the cup to make it look like nothing unusual is happening. Subterfuge and misdirection are the public wanker’s tools of the trade; drawing attention away from the “sleight of hand” that is taking place.
As my arousal builds, my cunt becomes increasingly wet. I become acutely aware of the soft squelching noises my fingers make as they play inside me.
I cough to stifle a moan; fanning myself with my free hand, trying to look for all the world like a woman who has taken too big a sip of her coffee and not like a wanton slut on the verge of a self-induced orgasm.
And now the fun bit begins; trying to keep myself on the brink for as long as possible. I stare intently at my laptop screen, not seeing anything as I hold myself on the edge. The pressure, the need for release become excruciating as I “suffer” in silence. The need for discretion adds to the intensity. Do I look flushed? Do I appear flustered? Is my coat still concealing what I am doing.
As the end becomes inevitable, I drain the remains of my coffee. Holding my now empty cup to my face for concealment, I surrender to my climax. I struggle to keep my body still as waves of intense pleasure spread through me. I bite down on the edge of my cup to stop myself from crying out. I’ve done this so many times, I know how to keep my climax from my fellow travellers.
As my destination approaches, I pack my laptop away, straighten my skirt under my coat, stand up and make my way to the toilet to wash my hands and my face. My knickers are uncomfortably wet, and I change them for the spare pair I keep in my bag for such purposes.
I return to my seat, continue to pack up, then alight from the train when it reaches my stop. I walk to the taxi rank, hail a cab, and set off, satisfied and relaxed ahead of my next meeting.
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