The summer heat beat its way through my chest, slicking my pale skin. The scent of humanity enclosed me, wrapping me in its pulsating reminders of flesh and sweat. I tugged at my ponytail, once again cursing my long black hair’s tendency to absorb every last bit of heat that it could.
The man next to me glanced at me, before shifting slightly away. Not that it did any good–the train was far too packed for him to move, and there were far too many people. He and I were standing mere inches apart, both of us holding the same bar. He was one of the many well-suited man that had gotten on the train not long after I did, and doomed me to rush-hour traffic. My shopping bag crinkled at my side, and I held it resolutely against me–this little black bag was why I was late, after all. If only I hadn’t taken so long to choose it….
Something rough pressed up against my thigh. I jumped, but the calloused hand had returned to the crowd even before I finished tugging down my skirt. I scanned the crowd, biting my lips, but no one ‘fessed up. I tensed up, resolving to be more attentive to the crowd.
More jostling, more rumbles. My well-suited neighbor’s hand drifted down the bar, gently touching mine. I froze slightly, but quickly lowered my hand. Maybe it had been an accident?
My bag crinkled at my side, loudly. I tugged it closer to me, but met resistance. Face flushing, I turned to confront a young man in worn workboots, paint-stained jeans, and a heavy metal t-shirt. He smirked at me, his hand still deep in my shopping bag. He hadn’t taken the toy out yet, but the tone of his gravelly voice was knowing. Teasingly knowing. “Where are ya getting off?”
I slapped at his hand, my face afire. “N-None of your business!”
He rolled his eyes, but acquiesced, stepping back as far as the crowded train would allow. “Alright, alright. Cool your jets, lady. Had to shoot my shot, yanno?”
I drew in a harsh breath, glancing around me. Luckily, no one had really noticed our altercation. “Well….Well, you did, and you missed. So, there.”
He chuckled at that, folding brawny arms across his chest. I drew my eyes away from his muscular chest, and turned myself right back around, trying to ignore the fact that it was *clearly* his calloused hands that had touched me earlier. I wasn’t in the mood for confrontation.
Mr. Well-Suited glanced at me when my hand returned to our shared bar, and I returned his blank-faced look. I must still have had reddened cheeks, though, for his full lips curled up into an amiable smirk. “So….Where *are* you getting off?”
I harrumphed at him, quietly fuming. I listened for the announcements, realizing with bored embarrassment that I still had half a dozen stops to go. “Home.”
“Anyone waiting for you there?” Mr. Well-Suited continued, his chocolate eyes glinting.
“Yup.” I wasn’t giving him any more than that; definitely wasn’t admitting that the only thing living waiting for me was the single succulent I hadn’t killed…yet.
Mr. Well-Suited looked over my shoulder, and said in a carrying tone, “I think she’s lying. Don’t you?”
Mr. Metalshirt responded, “I think she’s all alone out here…..”
I quavered, trying to find words to defend myself. To convince them. Suddenly, I looked around–where had all the other passengers gone? There wasn’t a woman to be found, and many of the men I saw had gotten on at the same stop as Mr. Well-Suited.
Before I could speak, Mr. Well-Suited carried on, “She never answered when we asked where she was getting off. How about we answer that question for her, gentleman?”
I heard chuckles rise around me, low and lusty. Hands came at me from all directions–some work-hardened, others lotion soft. Touches on my thighs, slaps on my ass, tugs on my nipples through my shirt and bra. I was squirming, protests ringing from my lips, appreciative comments the only response. Mr. Metalshirt’s hand was at the hem of my skirt again, one of many tracing their way up toward my panties. “Just relax, lady….Just let us do what we’re good at.”
I felt someone tug my shopping bag from me, and I let it go, too preoccupied with trying to preserve my dignity. I pleaded with them, trying to hold down my skirt, but there was no mercy to be found. Only, to my growing horror, ecstasy.
No. They couldn’t do this. I was a good girl, had had a few boyfriends sure, but I’d never…..I’d never do something like this! I couldn’t let them. I squirmed, struggled, pushed, begged. They were firm, but never harsh–the only thing I could do was delay them, and we both knew it.
Amidst the turmoil, a single hand had wormed its way up my loose blouse, under my bra, and to my nipple. The slow stroking touch, the gropes across my body, the appreciate stares and words….
“N-No…..Please….”
Lips found mine, silencing speech, sucking down protests. I barely even struggled as my blouse was unbuttoned, and even found myself thankful that the man hadn’t simply torn it off. Mr. Well-Suited’s tongue toyed with mine, sometimes withdrawing to suck my lip between his teeth, well-placed bites bringing delicious swelling from eager flesh. I felt flying, high, the fear dissipating as my breasts were revealed. I felt their eyes as the crowd paused, felt their admiration pulse through me, through my clit like a drumbeat. Mr. Well-Suited’s lips broke contact with mine, leaning back to admire me.
“Are you going to keep fighting?” He asked me, the clear ringleader. The other men waited, and I could see their cocks hard against their pants. Behind me, Mr. Metalshirt’s hand still rubbed up and down my inner thighs, never going closer than a graze on my panties.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted to be the girl that my parents raised me to be–proper, not a prude but certainly not a slut, *good*. I wanted to be–
“N-No.”
Was that my voice? Oh, oh god….I had to take it back. I had to! I had to be a good girl, this wasn’t what I wanted…..
“Good girl.”
This *was* what I wanted. Those words, echoed by all the men around me, sent pulses through my veins. Goosebumps fluttered over bare flesh, and over flesh that hungered to be bared.
“She’s soaking wet,” Mr. Metalshirt said from behind me. His hand finally–finally!–stroked across my panties, and my knees shook.
I clutched at the bar again, bringing a chuckle to more than one of the men around me. The last of my resistance faded as they started to touch me again, and disappeared entirely as my skirt and panties were removed.
Everything…faded. Kisses, touches, strokes. Teeth met yielding, desperate flesh–nipples, lips, ears, neck, and thighs. It seemed the only sounds were my own heartbeat, the squelching wetness of my fingered pussy, and my own moans and cries. I felt myself near the heartbreaking edge of an orgasm, ride it for a desperate moment, before being cruelly denied…again, and again, and again. Each denial came at the orders of Mr. Well-Suited, whose eyes rarely left my own, and whose hands rarely stopped caressing me.
I started begging, pleading. “I-I need it, please!”
“What do you need, girl?”
“Cock! Cum!” Was that *my* voice? So fragile, so desperate, so unabashedly horny.
“Which do you need more, kitten?” Mr. Well-Suited continued, the smirk clear on his face, even through the fog of my mind.
“Cock!” I practically screamed, my hips jerking as a thumb rubbed hard against my clit. Other fingers, from other hands, continued their assault of my pussy, their tempo racing my own heartbeat. An orgasm neared, before being ripped away again.
Finally, Mr. Well-Suited smiled. “Good girl. Kneel.”
All at once, their hands disappeared from my body. I staggered, glad for the order to collapse. My bare knees met the rough carpet of the train floor. I looked up at them, both sets of lips apart in eagerness, both dripping. Cocks swam into my lust-blurred vision, and I almost pounced on them, sucking and rubbing and tugging. Someone else knelt behind me, and I clenched tight enough to feel the familiar callouses as Mr. Metalshirt slid three thick fingers into me. Mindlessly, I drifted, starved. Starved for cum, for more, for more…..
Salty cum slipped down my throat, lips, chin, breasts. Splashed across my face, chest, ass, thighs. Cocks were replaced by more, each one a different taste, each one accompanied by different moans. Throughout it all, Mr. Well-Suited hand stroked my hair, brushed cum from my eyes before they could sting, voice a steady comforting backdrop to the sensual chaos that enveloped me.
And still….I couldn’t cum.
Not even when different hands filled my pussy, or even when slick fingers slipped into the sphincter of my virgin ass. I couldn’t cum, even as my world *became* cum.
I couldn’t cum until Mr. Well-Suited let me.
His backdrop of comfort transformed, becoming orders. I found myself obeying them, forcing myself to ignore my gag reflex, the ache in my wrists and jaw, the numbness in my legs. The word ‘anything’ began echoing around my mind, and I soon realized I was screaming it whenever I could breathe, “Anything, anything, anything….!”
Anything for you.
Anything to cum.
Anything you want…..
Just let me cum!
All at once, the hands and cocks withdrew. I found myself, every muscle a puddle, with an actual puddle of cum coating me. I found myself listening once again to the calm, cool voice of Mr. Well-Suited, “I have one last instruction for you.”
“A-Anything….”
“Cum for me. Cum for your Sir…with this.” His hand held out to me the purple vibrator I had agonized over in the store, all removed from its packaging, a low steady buzz already rising. He held it out to me, smiling.
I nodded, and accepted it with a faint blush. The men were now encircling me, a wide berth. One of them lifted me onto a nearby seat, and told me to begin.
I spread my legs for them, feeling pride as even their satisfied cocks twitched at the sight of my pussy. Not a single one of their cocks had entered any hole but my mouth.
Knowing it was what he wanted, I made a show of slowly tracing the thick, buzzing tip across my skin. It drifted in slow, lazy spirals towards my clit, gathering strings of thick cum. I jolted when it finally, finally grazed my clit. It was only the stern look of Mr. Well-Suited, of *Sir*, that kept an orgasm back. He didn’t want this to be easy.
He wanted me to tease myself for them, just like they had.
He watched me as I rubbed it across my labia, pressing its shaft against my clit. He licked his lips as it slipped in and out of my eager hole, never more than an inch back and forth, back and forth…..
He heard every moan as I finally let it inside, turning up the power just a bit, just a bit, just a bit….
He watched my eyes roll as I edged for him, twice, three times.
He watched me as I knew, from his eyes alone, that it wasn’t time yet.
He watched me as I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and broke.
“Sir! Sir, I can’t do this anymore. Sir, can I please cum?”
“At zero, you may.”
I felt dread build up, but I kept playing with myself, kept toying. Maybe Sir would be gentle? Maybe–
“Fifty.”
N-No….
“Fuck yourself with it, power off, until thirty-five.”
I did so, frantically, knowing he wouldn’t let me be slow. My free hand found my nipple, rubbing and pinching it.
“Forty-five….Harder, now. I want to *hear* it.”
The wet squelches of my pussy echoed. No one spoke, no one shifted, even the train’s background rumble had silenced.
“Thirty-five. Power on, first level. Keep fucking yourself until twenty-five.”
The vibrator’s buzz, even at low speeds, was enough to cause spasms and contractions. I fought back my orgasm with every bit of my shredded willpower, needing to be a good girl.
“Good girl. Twenty-nine….Keep going. I’m proud of you.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. I was a good girl. I was a good girl.
“Twenty-five. Turn up the intensity. Keep fucking. Don’t break eye contact. You’re doing such a good job, kitten.”
*Yes, Sir!* I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t find the words. I fucked myself desperately, toes curling, tears and drool dripping. I kept my eyes locked on his, through writhes and squirms and spasms.
“Ten. Take it out.”
I complied immediately, despite my pussy’s heartbreaking loss.
“Max power. Hold it against your clit. Don’t you dare move a muscle.”
My world bottomed out. I couldn’t. It was impossible.
My hands moved of their own accord, and my entire world shrank to the millimeter of space between the toy and my clit. Time slowed, breath stopped.
It made contact.
Supernovas flashed through my mind, waves of desperation and ecstasy, but I couldn’t….
I had to….
“Nine.”
I had to be….
“Eight. You’re such a good girl–seven. Keep going–six. I’m proud of you–five.”
Everything I was disappeared. I wasn’t Cassie, the college student. I wasn’t anyone. I was just HIS TOY.
And I needed….
“Four. Keep going.”
I needed to cum!
“Three. Almost there. Hold on.”
Every muscle in my body cried out from the tension. I couldn’t hold it. I wanted to jolt, to squirm, to *release*….
“Two.”
I wanted to be a good girl.
“One.”
I wanted to be a good girl for my Sir.
“Zero.”
— — —
I woke up in an unfamiliar bed, dressed in unfamiliar clothes. The silk pyjamas played over my skin, sensuously reminding me of–what?
A train….Hands. Moans. Kisses. Cock, fingers, a need, a craving….
An orgasm.
And…him.
Sir rolled over, a smirk playing across his lips as he pulled me to his lean, muscled chest. “Good morning, kitten.”
“Good….Good morning, Sir. What happened?”
“We finally answered the question of where you get off, kitten.”
I rolled my eyes at that, and he flicked my nose gently. “Oh yeah? Where is that?”
“My bed, and wherever else I decide…and nowhere else.”
I wanted to say so many things, ask so many questions, but the only thing I could do was say….
“Yes, Sir.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hbb10n/train_to_nowhere_groping_public_where_are_you
Wow what an excellent story!!! Love the writing style and tension. So so hot
Well fucking a if that wasn’t perfectly orchestrated. From the psychological twist of being a good girl, to the countdown making me want to cum too! Well done!
Nice work!
this was so great! i was drawn in throughout the entire story! thank you so much for this :>