I heaved a sigh of relief as the timer went off in the examination hall. Pens were placed, some thrown, and the stationary clattered onto the tables, accompanied by the sound of exam papers being turned back towards the front filled the exam hall as students around me checked their scripts for their matriculation number and if they have circled the questions that they have answered. Tutors walked down the aisles, making sure that students have stopped writing and some beginning to collect the examination scripts. I was not the only one relieved, many of my peers around me also had looks of relief on their faces, as this was the last paper for many of us.
Scripts were counted, and after a few silent gestures exchanged with friends near me, the announcement was made for us to leave the examination all. I took up my stationary and started to leave, disappearing among the noise and the crowd that never fails to fill the examination hall every time a paper ends; students discussing answers, celebrating… I merely disappeared, sneaking out from the back door that was less frequented by everyone, going a big round to collect my belongings from the entrance of the examination hall. I’m not one who talks to people after the conclusion of an exam. I simply disappear, never saying a goodbye to anyone. Anyway, I’m going to see all these people again next semester, right? Sigh.
The bus was crowded, and I cannot stand crowds. I sat in a corner, pretending to use my phone, ignoring any familiar faces that I may see. Not that much ignoring was needed, of course, most of the people I knew usually had a clique of friends that they had, and they were all busy chattering away, laughing and talking among themselves. Even if someone familiar was standing right in front of me, I’m simply just another passenger on the bus, looking through my phone and generally being what one would call a ‘loner’.
Alighting at the bus stop, I am once again greeted by the smell of burnt chocolates in the air, a scent of smoke and dust and whatever that was there. I've always wondered why no one did anything about the smell, the smoke and the industrial area in general. Am I the only one able to smell this revolting smell in the air? Nevertheless, my peers did not even falter nor cringe at the smell, but continued to talk and chatter away all the way up to the train platform. I moved myself further away from them, to the other side of the platform, where it was usually less crowded due to most people being too lazy to go to the other side. I wanted to get a seat on the train, as it was going to be a really long train ride back to the east, where I stay.
Despite my efforts to secure a train cabin with seats actually available, I was greeted with disappointment, just as usual. Seats were totally occupied on both sides, with middle aged workers that have finished their work for today. However, most of the crowd was made up of office workers who wanted to go somewhere further away to have their lunch. A few stops later, while the crowd started to leave, more people started to come in as well, resulting in a net increase in crowd as the train went on. I never liked crowds. They were far too noisy for me, not to mention disgusting and irritating, with sweaty bodies and smelly bodily scents that made me always wonder if these people actually bothered to smell themselves.
I held on to the pole in the middle of the train, my body pressed against it and my books held in front of me, minimizing the space that I am actually taking up in the train. Nevertheless, the crowd flowed around me and all about me, bodies pressing against me on all sides, and sometimes I wish I was a little taller to breathe some fresh air from above their heads.
I took a look at the flashing green and red panel above the train doors. Ah. A quarter of the journey done. About three-quarters more to go then. I needed about 2 hours to get from school to home. How ridiculous, an island city barely 50km in width and yet I need 2 hours to get home. Not to mention potential breakdowns and fault in the train lines from time to time. I wonder why no one ever does anything about anything at all.
Bodies continued to press against me on all sides, intruding my comfort zone from all around me. I thought I felt something, as a hand seemed to press against my butt, giving it a light squeeze. I turned around, but I barely caught sight of a hand quickly moving away, to join the mix of bodies and the crowd around me. Ah. This was bound to happen. Well, being dressed in a high waist skirt and a tube top was kind of revealing actually. But what was I to wear then, being in such a hot and humid country? I kind of regretted leaving my usual cardigan at home. Not to mention, it was kind of chilly in the examination hall earlier too.
The train came to a stop again, as more people entered the train, piling more people on top of the overcrowded sardine can that I felt like I was now in. My chest was literally pressed against the pole in front of me, the metal bar drawing a vertical like down the center of my chest. I did not have large breasts, but having the pole down my center augmented what little breasts I have, my breasts protruding from both sides of the bar. I could barely move, much less turn as the hand returned to grope at my butt again, feeling my ass cheeks over my skirt.
I couldn't move at all. The office ladies on both my sides had their backs to me, their bags in my way and preventing me from turning around to confront my groper. Well, just let him do what he or she wants, I guess. Not like I can do anything about it. It was kind of comfortable actually. At least I knew I had a body someone wanted.
Seeing that I did not move, my groper seemed to have gained more confidence in whatever he or she was doing. The hand was more firm and the actions were more intentional instead of accidental, and it traveled around my ass, feeling its shapeliness and the contours of my ass. Well it actually felt pretty good to have someone touching my ass. I tried to react to my groper, seeing how he or she would react. I moved my ass along with his hands. Initially, there was no reaction. Perhaps he or she mistook my action as accidental, attributing it to the movement of the train or me adjusting my position to make myself more comfortable in my position.
Soon after, my groper seemed to have gotten my signal, thinking that I approved his or her actions with me giving permission through my body’s actions. A few pats, and I felt the crowd move closer on me, and I don’t really know how that happens despite how crowded it already is. I felt a chest push up on my shoulders from behind, something poking me at the top of my butt, something hard and stiff. I almost yelped out in pain, thinking it was someone’s briefcase or laptop. However, my mind managed to piece together the situation first.
Well, I think that it is safe to identify my groper as a male then, with what I identify to be his dick pressed against my butt like the muzzle of a pocket handgun. His hands found my ass again, and he continued to fondle me, touching my round and firm bottoms, his groin grinding against my back, his hard bulge pressing against me on every forward thrust. My hands grasped my notes tightly, and I continued to let the stranger fondle me from behind.
This time, seeing as how the people around us were oblivious to what was happening in the crowded train, I felt his hand make contact with my skin underneath my skirt. One hand remained on top of my skirt, while I felt his other hand reach underneath the hem of my skirt, feeling my thighs underneath it. His hands travelled upwards, and he managed to reach my ass without lifting my skirt too much. Well it helps that I was wearing such a short skirt I guess.
I was wearing a g-string then, the thin panty material wedged between my ass cheeks. My molester must have felt a little surprised, but his hands did not miss a beat. He continued to fondle my ass cheek, kneading my flesh with his bare hands. His hands felt rough over my smooth ass cheeks, but my stranger molester was gentle with me. I felt him lean his head in beside my ear, taking a whiff of my hair and taking in the scent of my shampoo that morning. I felt him sigh a moan of pleasure, an indication that he liked what he smelt. Well, I do take my bodily smell very seriously, and bad smells are usually a very big turn off for me.
His hands started to travel around my waist, moving towards the front of my body. In place of his hands, he leaned his body forward, sandwiching my body between him and the pole. His other hand grasped the handlebar in front of me, and I noted his silver watch, a golden band around his fourth finger. It appears that my molester was a married man. His hands found the thin material of my g-string at the front of my body, and his fingers travelled up and down the smooth silky material. I felt myself getting a little warm between my legs, excited for the prospect of what my molester would do, especially in such a public area. Despite my phobia of crowds, I felt a little thankful for the crowd, providing the situation for my molester to have his way with me within the crowd.
I could feel his hard dick pressed against my butt cheeks, and I moved a little, allowing his dick to sink in between my butt cheeks. I felt my molester jerk a little bit forward and sigh again, a gasp of pleasure involuntarily coming out of his mouth. His hands started to reach lower between my legs, finding the warmth between my legs. I opened my legs a little, allowing his hands to reach between them, feeling a small patch of wetness that was starting to soak my g-string. Feeling for my engorged clit, my molester started to prod it, causing me to close my eyes and bite down on my lips, controlling myself from moaning out loud in the crowded train. I could feel my cheeks going a little flush now, and the train was getting kind of warm for me.
My molester started to thrust forward, rubbing his groin against my ass. I wondered if this would allow him to cum, seeing that we were both clothed. Moreover, his pants material seemed to be rather thick, not giving him the most pleasure that he can get from my butt cheeks. Removing one hand from my notes, I reached backwards, and I felt for the material of his formal pants. I reached a little further back, finding the base of my spine. Reaching downwards, I knew I would find him there. My molester relented a bit, allowing my hand to reach down for his cock. I grasped the thick rod as best as I could over his pants, and once more my molester gave off a sigh of pleasure.
His hands continued to fondle me under my skirt, this time diverting his attention once more to the sides. He managed to tuck a finger underneath my g-string, feeling the bald and shaven mound that I had underneath. He found my clit again, but this time his hand was in direct contact with it. It was much more sensitive than I expected, and I really tried my best not to moan out loud right there and then. Being a married man, my molester seemed to know that to do, giving my clit attention at intervals, removing his fingers when it was too sensitive for me to bear. Even I myself did not touch my clit that much during my masturbation sessions, the clit being a really sensitive part of my pussy.
I managed to find the zipper of his pants in the heat of the moment, and I unzipped it a little, allowing my hands to reach into his pants. His underwear material was really rough, as compared to the smooth silk material of my g-string. This time, I was more able to grab his cock, feeling a little wet patch at where his cock head was supposed to be. His member throbbed in my hands, the blood fueling the erection that he had. I stroked his cock as best as I could through his underwear, and I felt the breathing of my molester getting a little faster and faster.
I was far from my orgasm, the MRT being too crowded for the comfort of my orgasm. I looked up at the panel above the MRT once more. We’re at Tiong Bahru already. Ah. That’s about halfway more to go. Soon, after the city area, the crowd will start to clear out, no doubt. I knew I had to hurry a little if my molester was to finish. I started to stroke him faster than before, pulling with all my might at the rough material of his underwear. I could feel his underwear getting a little more soaked with precum, the damp material allowing me a little better grip on his cock.
His hands were still fondling me, and I felt his motions start to slow down as he was enjoying himself. As he was cupping my bald mound, I felt his cock give a few hard thrusts forward as he came in his pants, a little of his cum dribbling out and onto my hands. I held his cock firm within my hand as he came, feeling spurt after spurt of semen going through his shaft before exiting his penis. As his jerking reduced to a mild throb, I gave his dick a few gentle squeezes as I removed my hands from his pants, returning the wet, cum stained hands to my notes.
I felt my molester remove his hands from my pussy, and he retreated from my back to resume his place in the crowd. I could smell the scent of his cum coming off my hands, a musky and salty smell in the air. I continued to stand at my spot, taking particular notice of the hands of people leaving the train carriage from the door in front of me. In particular, as the train stopped at Paya Lebar, I noted a man wearing office attire, his hand which bore a silver watch that I saw a while ago. The man turned a little to look back, and he managed to see me looking directly at him. I gave him a little smile, and I saw the flustered look that he had as he turned and quickly walked away.
Upon reaching home, I smelt my hand for the musky scent that remained on my hand. I took care not to touch anything else with that hand, and I slowly took off the g-string I was wearing. Without taking off my clothes, I wanted to savor my cum stained hands, maximizing whatever that I could get out of it. I reached between my legs and found my pussy still wet, sticky fluids between my pussy lips. Alternating between rubbing myself and smelling the scent off my hand, the scent of cum brought me to orgasm, and I felt my body shuddering as I relieved myself of the stress of my examinations.