On the Train

The afternoon started off on a decidedly promising note, in that as I left the school for the train station to go back to the centre of town, I saw several girls hurrying along ahead of me and moaning at another girl, who was falling behind. She was walking with a mincing gait and her knees were bumping against each other repeatedly as she moved. One of the girls looked at her watch and then exclaimed, “Come on, Santhe! We will miss the train if you don’t hurry up.”. “I can’t help it! I really need to pee…”, she shouted back angrily and then blushed when she realised that I had heard her. She then quickly caught up with her friends and didn’t say anything more, but still struggled to keep up the pace. I could see that she was giving a quick squeeze each time her legs passed each other and I also noticed that she was biting her lower lip, as she walked on. I remembered seeing a line at the girl’s toilets on my way from the Admin Block, so they had probably gone passed there as well on their way to the station. When they got to the stop street, she started pacing back and forth with an occasional bounce every now and then, as the cars roared passed. I felt myself growing hard, as she stuck out her butt behind in that very suggestive way that desperate girls and women often do. This, Santhe, was a Cape Malay, which gave her that exotic look of the Afro–Eurasian almost mystic quality, and I was really getting turned–on watching her “fudge” coloured legs wiggling round beneath her school uniform (red skirt, white blouse and red blazer). The moment the lights changed, Santhe ran across the street and was quickly followed by her friends. I hung back a bit, as I didn’t want to look to obviously like I was trying to keep up with them. I followed them, as closely as possible, as they ran across and then up into the Old Mutual train station. For a minute, I thought that I had lost them in the mass of people that were pushing their way through, going either in or out, but then I spotted them standing at the back of one of the four out–going queues waiting for the ticket–clerks to hurry up checking their tickets at the front. The Santhe girl was at that point starting to bob up and down, as the line crawled forward at a snail’s pace. For the first time, I saw her look around her, as if she were contemplating finding a secluded spot. She stayed with her friends though in the line, but was now swaying, as well as bobbing. She then leant forward and said something to one of the other girls, who instantly went beet red. I kept an eye on Santhe, as the line moved forward and even though I had to catch glimpses of her from behind other people in the queue, I saw her face contort repeatedly, as waves of urgency passed over her. By the time that she was seventh in line from the ticket–clerk, I could see that she was jiggling continuously with a feverish unfocussed look in her eyes. When she reached the second place in line, I just caught a glimpse of her right hand darting down into her groin, as she suddenly stopped bobbing. She was in a half bent over stance with an agonised expression on her face that was an absolute pleasure to behold (I feel sorry for anyone who has never seen that expression, because once seen is impossible to forget and equally impossible to explain – somewhat as if the woman is experiencing both pain from the extreme pressure in her bladder and the first waves of an impending orgasm… Essentially, torn between the need to pee and the desire to climax.). Suddenly, the people in front of her made it passed the ticket–clerk and Santhe handed her train ticket to him, as she fought to control her bladder without squeezing herself in front of the man. A second later, she got her card back and raced through the turnstiles and disappeared around the corner of the entrance to catwalk. The girls right behind her started giggling and then quickly went after her. When I got to the front of the queue, I noticed a couple of “inch–wide” drops on the floor, almost at the ticket–clerk’s feet, and one or two more, as I went through the turnstiles. Inside the catwalk, I found several more before the stairs that lead down to platforms 7 and 8. The drops petered out on the catwalk in the space before the next stairs down to platforms 6 and 5, but reappeared with a vengeance, as the stairs to platforms 4 and 3 appeared. The drops actually formed an almost continuous trail just before the stairs down to platforms 2 and 1. I had to chuckle when I reached the stairs, because there was a series of big piddles (small puddles) all the way down and then several wet footprints leading into the ladies toilets, but no sign of any of the girls. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to try and find out if they were still inside, as my train entered the station then (just when you don’t need them – typical!). So I had to content myself with gazing back out of the window of the train, as it pulled away (with no luck). The train was packed like sardines with passengers and from my seat near the aisle, I could see that every padded–bench had two to three people sitting on it. At that point, I resigned myself to a boring journey back to town, as there wasn’t much chance of anymore entertainment. I did kind of wish that the Santhe girl had made it on to the carriage that I was in, but then remembered seeing one of her friends getting of a train on platform 5 that morning. So it was more likely that they had followed Santhe over to the public toilets on my platform, before catching a train on their own platform. Tsk, tsk, tsk … I sat back and chose to look out the window, happy at least to have found a seat during rush hour. My view outside wasn’t miraculous and definitely not brochure material, being an inner–city route. It was mostly graveyards between Mutual station and Woltemade station on the one side and sports fields (Old Mutual’s) on the other. At Woltemade, a dozen or so more people got on to the carriage that I was in and were forced to remain standing, because of no empty seats. The train then lurched, as it left the station, heading for the housing estates at Maitland and I eavesdropped on some of the conversations around me, as we went through a tunnel under road overpass, but there was nothing interesting to hear (just women gossiping – blecccchhhh!). As the train, slowed for Maitland Station, several people got up to get off and had to push their way passed at least two dozen others coming in. Before the doors closed, another dozen or so people squashed into the carriage, as the whistle blew and I was jostled by a couple of people, as they were forced to compete for the overhead safety straps (the existence of which is rather paradoxical in that if you need them, then you are not really safe…). The scene outside was even less interesting, as we entered the factory industry area of Salt River and the graffiti on the walls didn’t make it any better either. I wasn’t paying much attention either, as the train slowed down for the next station or I would have know that it was slowing too early. To my surprise, the train ground completely to a halt and several of the passengers started griping, as we were nowhere near the Salt River station. Some of them even tried to open the doors, but they were still being held closed by hydraulic pressure and so they had to give up. A lot of people started looking at their watches and then started looking out the windows. The only thing that kept going was time, as we all waited for the train to start moving again, but it didn’t and the minutes started piling up. After about fifteen minutes, I noticed a woman standing next to the seating area in front of me shift from one leg to the other and a few moments later, she shifted back again. She kept this up for several minutes, as the train remained motionless and my boredom suddenly started evaporating, as I continued to watch her. After half an hour had passed since the train stopped, I saw her start wiggling her knee around, as a worried expression crossed her face. About that time, I heard one of the passengers talking to someone outside the train on the otherside and everyone strained to see if they could hear anything. Several moments later, the news drifted back to where I was sitting that there was a power failure on the cables that supplied power to the trains and that it would take roughly an hour to get back up again. The news definitely didn’t make a lot of people happy at all and a few moaned about missing their connecting trains out to the outlying southern suburbs (i.e. Muizenberg). My attention was on the woman, because she was getting uncomfortable in her elegant black cotton power–suit that is so fashionable in Cape Town at the moment (most of the women in the carriage were wearing these power–suits), but which was making her perspire being squashed between other people around her. The front of her white blouse at the neckline was beginning to grow damp with perspiration, as her breathing made her breasts push against the inside of her jacket. The worst part of the whole situation was that the internal lighting had gone off as well as the air conditioning, which meant that no air was getting moved around inside the carriage – causing the temperature to climb rapidly. Some of the other women were also starting to perspire in the rising heat and I got a good view of ample breasts, as several decided to take off their jackets. The sun was beating down outside, turning the carriage into a sweathouse over the next ten minutes and I was getting decidedly turned–on again by all the flustering attractive ladies (I had visions of the ladies starting to strip if it got any hotter). I estimated that there must have been at least fifty to sixty passengers in the carriage at that time and over half of them were women, which meant that if the train didn’t get moving before too long, then I would probably end up ankle deep in piss, as the carriage was roughly twenty feet by six foot in size. I kept an eye on the woman in the black cotton suit over the next twenty minutes, as she began to show definite signs of needing to relieve herself. Her bladder was visibly swollen, as she began making very brief curtseys when she was sure that no one was looking and sometimes even when they were. It was nearly an hour after the train had ground to a halt and by this time, a lot of the passengers were beginning to show signs of swelling bladders, including me (I had drunk a coke before leaving – dumb, I know). There was still no sign of any progress in the restoration of power and added to that there was no toilet on the carriage. Things began to get desperate in a hurry, as quite a few of the women began shifting around nervously and all the windows were wide open in an effort to get cool air into the carriage. The woman in the black suit was looking really under the weather, because the sweat was making her make–up run and her teeth had gone red from chewing her lip. She was a Caucasian in her mid–thirties with shoulder–length auburn hair and a fair complexion. This was a Metro Plus carriage, so there were mostly Caucasians in it, because of still prevalent socio–economic forces in our nation. Anyway, the woman had her legs crossed and was trying to remain calm, as she gave her thighs a hard squeeze and then lifted her front leg up across the other, inadvertently showing off her butt. A second later, she did it again with growing urgency and I saw a flush appear on her face, as she must have been fighting the urge to pee or had visions of drenching her pants. It was obvious that she was bursting at the seams and the women next to me began wincing in sympathy, as they must have been empathising with her plight. At that moment, the woman sitting on the same bench as me, next to the window, saw someone walking past and leant out the window to say, ‘Can’t you people at least get this train moving to the next station? Some of us in here need to get to a toilet!’. I couldn’t hear the reply, but when she sat down she muttered, ‘Another half hour, my foot!’. The woman in the black suit whimpered at the news and started jiggling in desperation, as she bit down on her lip, drawing blood. I looked at her crotch just in time to see a small shiny spot appear at the bottom of her zipper and watched it spread out tantalisingly slow into the surrounding cotton material of her slacks. Instantly, she shoved the palm of her left hand into her groin and pushed with all her might, as the shiny wetness expanded outwards across her crotch. Just before it was about to start spreading out down the insides of her legs, she managed to regain control with a brief shudder. The woman next to me bumped me and only then did I notice that she to was shifting uncomfortably in her seat. A moment later, she went pale and rubbed her abdomen, mumbling, ‘Not now, Please…’. She shifted again and then stiffened, as a look of horror crossed her face. Over the next minute, her expression changed to a grimace, as an almost inaudible rumbling came from her stomach and she then suddenly stood up, saying, ‘Honey, why don’t you take my seat for a while?’. The woman in black gratefully nodded and sat down, as the first woman took her place. “Smart move”, I thought to myself – using the opportunity of being kind to cover her own needs. That is one of the most intriguing things for me, in just how cunning and devious women can get to hide the unmistakable with the aid of subterfuge. No wonder there is such assumed lethality behind idioms like – “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”… I continued to watch the woman now sitting next to me out of the corner of my eye, as she carried on shifting and squirming with her legs wiggling around frantically. The other woman was standing with her legs crossed and clenching her butt surreptitiously, as I saw her abdomen quiver once or twice. Several other women near me were also reaching a point of open desperation and while I could just see their faces on the whole (except for those in plain view), I was enjoying every minute, because the expressions on their faces were really worth a thousand words. On top of that, I noticed that the woman in the seat in front of me, next to the window was watching me and that was when I realised that I had been wiggling my own knees back and forth. Out of necessity, I had started fidgeting, because my own bladder was beginning to hurt intensely, as the pressure started building up. That was a problem, because while I enjoyed the predicament that the women found themselves in, I hadn’t envisioned having to wet myself… The young woman directly across from me, on the seat in front of me, reached the point where wiggling her knees and pressing her hand into her groin no longer helped. She began rocking back and forth with her eyes closed and had an intense look of concentration on her face. After a minute or two, her face was contorted into a grimace, which came and disappeared several times before she suddenly let out a startled gasp. I looked down into her crotch, as a wave of wetness flooded the lap of her brown corduroy pants and the seat beneath her, as her head fell back against the seat with her mouth still open. When she regained her composure, she started sobbing, because of the extent of the damage. I was actually caught off guard by her sudden drenching, as I had been too busy watching the older women to notice the approaching damburst and had to ram my hand into my groin to prevent my bladder from following her bladders cue. It was now roughly about seventy minutes after the train had stopped and I could see a number of women were teetering on the brink of no return, as disaster loomed up infront of them. After nearly pissing myself, I needed to get up and move about, as that was the only way for me to stay in control at that stage. So I gave my place to another woman, who was looking decidedly worse for the wear and took her place looking mostly towards the middle of the carriage. The good thing about this was that I could press my dick into the side of the backrest of one of the padded benches without anyone being aware of it. At this point, I noticed a few wet spots in the crotches of some of the women, because from my new vantage–point I could see more of the carriage. One particularly gorgeous blonde woman, no older than 19, was inhaling sharply with a whistle through her teeth, as she squeezed her crotch with both hands. Her eyes were both wide open and unfocussed, as she sat leaning forward. I couldn’t make out whether she was actively masturbating or not, but it really did look close enough, even though the squeezes were more of a way of cutting off spurts of piss. She was definitely loosing the battle, because a wet stain had started creeping up from under her butt and climbing the highest from the bottom of her crack. She then shuddered, as a sudden surge of pleasure ran up her spine and her upper torso and head swayed involuntarily, as a supreme look of peace washed over her face. There was a glistening wet patch halfway up the back of her beige slacks, which was glued to her buttocks tightly where it had gotten wet and wrinkled where it was stretched between her buttocks. Suddenly, the train lurched forward without warning, causing several of the women to stumble and almost fall. One woman briefly began peeing full force in her dress, flooding her lap, and just managed to stop before completely drenching her cream coloured satin dress. I felt trickles run down my left leg and only stopped the flow with a major effort of will power. However, most of the passengers were delighted that the train was finally moving back again and some even chuckled when a voice came over the speakers, apologising for the delay and any “inconvenience”. The voice then added that the train would be stopping at Salt River in a couple of minutes and so a group of the women and some men began making their way towards the doors to get off. Noticeably, most of them were a collection of the most desperate women, including the woman in the black suit, and so I decided to join them as well. It was a crush in front of the closed doors, as our group of desperate passengers prepared to rush out the moment the doors opened and everyone of our fifteen strong group was jiggling and bouncing for all we were worth. We were squashed so closely together that I could only see the whole bodies of the women immediately around me and then the faces of the others. I was one of three guys also waiting with the group and was glad of the crowding, because I had to wiggle my knees and occasionally squeeze my dick to keep from pissing myself. I noticed that the woman, who had made way for the woman in black, was shivering constantly while she twisted and squirmed, and I could see that she had goose bumps all over her arms and neck. She was breathing so irregular that I thought she was hyperventilating, but more than that I couldn’t tell. So I took a major chance and carefully stuck my hand were I estimated her butt to be. She stiffened and tried to squirm away, but there was no where to go, and then she made a half turn, trying to see who was groping her. Luck was on my side, because all the three guys were standing around her and so she couldn’t identify her groper. I stuck my hand back against her butt, as she turned to face forward and revelled in the look of fear that crossed her face, because she desperately wanted to get away from my hand, but dared not move, as I felt her buttocks clench and quiver. She was starting to panic, her movements becoming frenzied, as I caught a glimpse of her left elbow and saw the arm muscles working overtime. I pressed my hand between her legs, rubbing the soft flesh in front of her tightly clenched butt with my middle finger and suddenly, a wave of warm wetness enveloped my hand. I then rubbed my finger harder against the soft flesh and felt my already stiffening dick go rock hard, as her eyes nearly popped out of her face when my middle finger suddenly found a section that could only have been her puckered asshole. Instantly, a ripping noise came from her butt, as I felt my fingers get pushed away by a hard lump and then a flood of warmth drenched my hand. I had to quickly yank my hand back out of the way, as a hissing noise caused the women around her to pull back away from her and stare at the shiny wet stain racing across her butt and down her bare legs. The, now wet, woman blushed scarlet red, as she realised that everyone near her had heard her pee and I just managed to see the huge puddle growing at her feet before the weight of bodies closed in again. The woman in the black suit (on my left) dropped down on to her haunches with both hands crushed between her thighs, as a brief hissing noise came from her and I felt my cock jerk, as a shiny wet stain appeared around the underside of her butt, trickles of piss wetting the soles and heels of her shoes. She just managed to stop the flow of piss before it got any higher up her butt, but there was a small puddle beneath her where some of her pee had fallen to the floor. She then stood up slowly, as if trying not to loose control again and I could see that there was a wet stain halfway down to her knees. I had a tennis ball sized semi–wet patch in my groin, from coming as the woman in black wet herself and now had a problem, because having cum, no longer had the erection to help me stay in control. I was forced to rub my dick with one hand, while I looked at the women around me. Everyone of the women around me were on the verge of wetting themselves and I took a long look at their faces, as they grimaced, winced, groaned, fretted frantically and generally slipped into a world of their own. They were all struggling to avoid the embarrassment of totally humiliating themselves in public and more women were joining our group by the second, anxiously bobbing up and down behind me. A few of them even looked like they were about to pass out, as their eyes glazed over from time to time, but I didn’t hear anyone of them peeing. I was desperate myself, as I couldn’t prevent the occasional trickled from running down my leg, and had to pinch my dick for all I was worth everytime disaster loomed. “Were was this fucking station!”, I kept moaning under my breath. My undies were slippery from cumming and so I kept loosing my grip, as the wet patch spread slowly down my left leg. Suddenly, I felt my dick throb, as a new wetness filled my undies and I felt the biggest load of cum squirt into my pants that I can ever remember. As I regained control, I noticed that a young blonde woman near me was rubbing her clit hard through her damp skirt crotch and that she had been looking at me intently. A second later, she closed her eyes tightly and gasped, as a big orgasm rocked her and she then smile demurely with a naughty look on her face, whispering, “You going to have a problem hiding that..”. I looked down to see that the wet patch ran from the top of my zip down to mid–thigh of my jeans and replied, “It seems that you enjoyed it as much as I did…”. She blushed and whispered, “To be honest, I get turned on by anyone wetting, even myself, which I just did too.”. I looked between her legs and, true enough, there was a big puddle (3ft or 1m) and her sandals were squishing too. I then saw that her stocking were dripping wet, as well as the front of her skirt, and said, “You really flooded your panties and most of the floor.”. She blushed again and then whispered very quietly, “The problem is that I also have to have a very big dump too and I can’t hold both in.”. As if to emphasise this, she let out a hoarse groan, as a wet grumbling echoed for her abdomen. “You’re in good company.”, I replied and then pointed to the other woman, who had the lump of shit in her panties, “She’s a bit further gone than you in that department though.”. She looked at the woman and caught a glimpse of her denim shorts with a noticeable bulge in the back. “Ouch! That must hurt.”, she winced, as the bulge grew a little bit in size. I then slipped my hand under her skirt and then between her legs, only to find that she wasn’t wearing any panties. She squirmed against my questing hand, blushing profusely, as I located a patch of squished poop squashed against the inside of her thighs. “Oooh, please don’t. I’ll loose complete control if you do that.”, she moaned, as her stomach rumbled noisily. Her buttocks were squeezing and tensing the whole time, as I spread the poop out back over her shapely bum. Just then the train’s brakes started squealing, as it slowed down for the Salt River station and the group started trying to open the doors already. As the doors opened, there was a mad rush to escape the carriage, which had been our prison, and I saw two dozen women race over to where the ladies toilet was. When I got around to that side, I saw that there was a horrendous line outside the door, as women from all the carriages crowded in on the facility. Unfortunately, I still had to pee with a vengeance and so ran around to the men’s side, which was almost empty. I was just unzipping and relaxing to pee, when several women rushed in and fought with each other to get into the two cubicles. The woman with the bulge in her shorts was the first into the left cubicle and I heard her let out a huge fart, as she yanked down her shorts. The other women grimaced, as she voided her bowels with force and noticed that the young blonde woman was squirming, as trickles of watery shit ran down her right leg. The woman in the black suit was in front of the blonde and even more desperate than before. Three of the other women were openly squeezing their crotches and hopping around from one leg to another, while a fourth was dancing around in circles in absolute desperation, rubbing her crotch for all she was worth, as piss hissed from under her hands. The woman in the first cubicle was still shitting after at least half a minute, while the woman in the second cubicle was pissing hard with neither showing signs of stopping. The woman in the black suit, suddenly started yanking at her belt, trying to work it loose with her free hand, as piss spurted passed her other hand. She was peeing full force, as she got her belt loose and began trying the pull her zip down. Her pants were soaking by the time she managed to pull them down, exposing her bare butt to the world and then dropped into a crouch without being able to stop her pee. She continued to pee for nearly two minutes, as the puddle expanded rapidly around her feet. The fourth woman at the back of the line for the second cubicle lost control and stood horrified, as waves of piss cascaded down the legs of her pink slacks, turning them almost red. A second later, two of the other women began slowly loosing control, as wet patches blossomed in their crotches and then I saw the blonde woman shudder and groan as shit began falling from between her legs forming a pile on the floor between her feet. Then suddenly the cubicle doors opened and the two remaining women darted into them, as piss ran down their legs. The last remaining woman ran from the toilet and I don’t know where she went or what happened to her. The woman in black finally managed to stop peeing and pulled up her pants, as she hurried away with her soaked slacks swishing between her legs as she walked. The fourth woman just ran out along with the woman in the now serious stained shorts and the other woman from the second cubicle. The two women remaining in the cubicles finished after a minute and quickly left. I then took the opportunity to start making out with the blonde woman and we fucked each other silly for half an hour before she cleaned up and we went home by taxi. I am now going out with her regularly and we have become lovers and ws fans. Her name is Jaquiline and you will probably hear more about her soon.
John Sniper