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Their Florida trip heats up.
The fingers were teasing her, running all the way up nearly to her crotch, stroking round the softest skin right at the top of her leg, pausing there, tantalisingly close, then withdrawing again. Time and again, each time wondering if this would be the time they would stroke that bit further.
The train jolted over a rough bit of track and Amy momentarily lost her balance. She swayed a little. The hand slipped too, upwards, coming to rest cupping one of the cheeks of her arse. She froze. So did the hand, then it began to move again, running itself over her behind, stroking round the edge of her plain cotton knickers, running over the material, occasionally cupping a buttock and giving it a gentle squeeze.
Amy shook herself. This had gone far enough, she had to put a stop to it now. She took a deep breath and spun herself round, steeling herself to confront whoever was violating her by feeling her up like this. But again the only person she saw was the young girl in uniform, who met her gaze calmly and smiled slightly, but in a friendly way not sinister.
Amy still couldn't quite believe it was her. But whoever it was had obviously misinterpreted her turning round as an invitation to take things to the next level, as the hand was now openly stroking the front of her underwear, tracing over the slit beneath, fingers pressing ever so gently around her clit.
Amy was suddenly embarrassingly aware of just what those fingers would be feeling - the wetness of her knickers would be unmistakable, her body reacting to the unwanted touch, betraying her. But was it really that unwelcome? John her husband was a good man and a real friend, but a useless lover. She had spent the first two years of her marriage trying to show him how to pleasure her. He seemed to want to get it right but somehow was always clumsy and just missing the right spot. After a while she had given up trying, resigning herself to unsatisfying sex, and even that was infrequent these days. She had masturbated a lot in those early days, but now she seemed too busy and to have too little time to herself to do even that. She suddenly realised she was struggling to remember when she had last even thought of sex, and certainly her last orgasm would be calculated in months rather than days or even weeks.
Slowly she found herself relaxing and just enjoying what those fingers were doing. She glanced again at the schoolgirl, who met her gaze levelly, but with just the hint of a smile around her lips. Amy still wasn't sure why she was doing this, but it must be her fingers that were making Amy feel so good.
She had found Amy's clit and was rubbing around it, pressing in gently as she moved her fingers in small circles over the button. Amy's knickers were soaked, and she could feel the wetness of the cotton being pressed against her throbbing clit. Meanwhile another finger was pressing a little lower down, pushing the fabric a little into the hole of her wet pussy. She rocked herself gently against the hand, trying to guide where it was pressing to get the most sensitive spots. God that felt good!
But she wanted more. Nice as the cotton felt against her clit she wanted that hand inside, the fingers pressing directly against her clit. But the hand seemed content at the moment to stroke on the outside, in a teasing sort of way, enough to feel really good but keeping her on a level when she wanted to go deeper, she wanted to really enjoy this.
The train was pulling into another station and Amy took the opportunity to let go of the handrail and shift position as even more passengers piled in, pushing the girl who Amy was now convinced was the source of her pleasure even closer against her.