The Underground

It was just another hot summer morning and the usual morning squeeze on the central line. The train filled at Stratford, and with Lottie packed in to her normal place she found herself pressed up against the end of the car reading her Metro resting on the bulkhead.

The train had barely started off when Lottie felt liquid trickling on her ankle. She was unable to turn round but just accepted that in the crush someone had split their water bottle and it was leaking its already warm contents on to her feet.

Warm as the water was, it was still quite cooling and soothing given the cramped conditions. Soon the trickling stopped. Lottie just assumed that the bottle was empty.

At Liverpool Street the doors opened and released the crush. As the passengers disembarked Lottie turned, hoping to see who’s water bottle it was, but she could not tell who it was amongst the passengers disembarking before her.

Lottie thought nothing of it and went about her day.

A few days later something similar happened again. As the train pulled away from Stratford the passengers surged and this time the trickling water was landing a little higher up her legs. As before it was warm but cooling, and actually felt quite nice.

At Liverpool Street again Lottie could not tell who was spilling the water as she turned and left the train. Her legs and feet soon dried on her way up the escalator.

Over the next month the same thing happened five more times. On one occassion even getting the bottom of her skirt a little wet.

Lottie did not often work weekends, but she was busy and decided to go in on Saturday. Lottie caught the usual train and transferred as usual at Stratford. Saturday travel was much better. It was a real luxury to be able to sit on the central line.

Lottie settled in to her seat reading her Metro. She was sniggering at the Nemi cartoon strip when she heard pattering in her lap and felt the wetness soak through her skirt on to her thighs.

Lottie looked down at her lap and gasped. The jet coming from behind her Metro was unmistakable. Lottie moved her paper aside and was shocked by what she saw.

For a few seconds Lottie was speechless. She Did not expect a man to be standing there, penis in his right hand, directing a jet of pee in to her lap. Even less did she expect him to be filming it on a camera with his left hand.

Eventually Lottie was able to speak. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“Peeing.” The man replied.

Again Lottie was speechless and the man continued to pee.

Eventually the man’s flow waned, he pocketed his phone and retrousered his penis.

“Was that nice and cool?” The man asked.

Before Lottie could compose herself the train rapidly slowed to a stop at Liverpool Street and the doors opened.

The man left but Lottie remained sitting for a few seconds considering what to do, but just in time composed herself and left the train.

The man had vanished, nowhere to be seen.

Lottie quickly studied her skirt. There was little to see of what had happened on the black fabric, and she could probably sponge it out at work, it was not like there would be anyone else there.

Lottie rode the escalator up from the platforms and went out on the street wondering why what happened had happened. By the time she had entered her building and gone up in the lift she had worked out what she would do.

She entered the Ladies and sponged the pee out of her skirt, not worrying about the now dried pee on her legs.

Throughout the day at work Lottie was alone with her thoughts and thought of little else besides the man peeing in to her lap, and realising the water trickling on her legs had probably been pee too. At the time it had come as a bit of a shock, but now she had time to reflect on it she realised that it had actually felt quite nice to have the pee in her lap, running down her thighs, and soaking in to her seat. Now she had sponged her skirt there was nothing to show that she had been peed on.