Julie froze when she felt a hand grab her ass over her skirt. Many hands ended up grazing her or even resting on her on her train rides to and from school—it was a crowded route. But there was no denying what was happening here. He was squeezing her rounded bottom. Her pulse quickened. He groped her, moving between each ass cheek, feeling the fullness.
“Please stop,” she whispered. She didn’t even know if he could hear her over the rattling and rumbling of the train tracks. But she couldn’t speak louder. It was like her voice had left her.
His hand slept down, right under Julie’s little skirt to the gusset of her thong. His fingers pressed against her mound, pushing it up into her.
“You’re wet,” a male voice growled in her ear. She felt it, too. Her cunt was getting wet in spite of his touch, in spite of her willing her body not to enjoy this. She hated herself. But his fingers on her panty-clad pussy were sending electricity right up through her clit and spine.
“N-no,” Julie murmured. Again, the man didn’t hear her or just didn’t care.
He pulled her panties aside and started teasing her opening. She gasped. Her folds parted, whorishly, desperate for more.
“No, please,” she said again.
“You bitch!” His voice sneered. “You’re fucking soaked.” Lips grazed her ear. She hadn’t dared look at him, but she felt a beard. Her knees trembled. Her treacherous hips wiggled back towards his fingers. He didn’t stop her as she impaled her pussy down onto his digits.
“Fuck,” she half-winced, half-moaned, as he tore into her.
“Yeah, good slut,” he whispered in her ear as he began curling his fingers and pressing them in and out of her defenseless body. He bit her ear and then drew away from her. “Give me that wet cunt, baby. Yeah, give it up easy for me.”
She felt her eyes bulge wide. She wasn’t easy. She wasn’t that kind of girl!
“Just stop,” she muttered again. “Please stop.” The train wheels rumbled on. She was right up against the glass and could see graffiti on the tunnel walls.
“You’re the one fucking my fingers, you whore.”
“I’m-I’m not,” she meekly gasped, but she knew it was true. She was wiggling her ass up and down his fingers, helping him finger-rape her needy cunt right there on a crowded train.
The train slowed and came to a stop. It was the door across from where she stood that opened. She held still. The man withdrew his fingers most of the way from her sopping cunt, but his tough, calloused fingertips (how many? She had no idea, but she hated how her cunt loved how they stretched her) remained, keeping her pried open and desperate for more.
More people clamored on. More than had gotten off at the stop. She felt a man’s body against her back and looming over her. He pressed her further against the glass. Her boobs, so big for her age, and a constant source of attention for her, were smooshing into the glass. The cold of the glass stung her nipples, which were promptly hardening.
Her eyes rolled upwards. She could almost see him reflected in the glass! Tall, dark hair . . . but the train rushed off before she could see more, changing the light and causing his ghostly image to fade. Oh god, she thought. He’s handsome. Then, no! Her mind was racing. How could she let herself find her molester handsome?
The loudness of the train, the blare of music through headphones set too loud, all of it formed a cacophony. And the man must have felt it the perfect cover, because his fingers dug right back up Julie’s pussy.
“Oh yes!” She moaned out before she could catch herself. She knew she was rocking her hips again. Helping him. Helping his pumping fingers molest her cunt deeply.
“Yeah, I’ll give it to you good, bitch,” he sneered in her ear again. “I knew you were wearing that tiny skirt because you wanted this.”
“It’s just—ooh—my uniform,” she grunted back, hoping no one would hear her. The vibration of the train made his fingers even more delicious. As did the shame of how good it felt to be molested in public like this.
“You got it shortened.”
“It-it’s just too small because of my ass,” she explained. She wished she hadn’t immediately, because he’d now peeled her skirt up to expose the bare flesh of her round ass. She felt herself on display for anyone who looked through the crowd, how the air was cool against her skin. His hand grasped her naked ass cheek, one then the other, as he continued his assault on her poor, wet pussy.
“Sexy bitch,” he grunted. “That’s it, help me do you.”
Her body complied. She felt her freed ass jiggling as she rode his fingers. Up and down. Fuck. Why did it feel so good? She felt cut off from her body. Her whore body was betraying her. A voice in her mind was shouting at her. Stop, it said, just stop! Push him away! Call for help! But in the reflection, all she could see was a wanton smile on her face, her lips slightly parted. She looked like a pornstar showing off how much she loved being used. No no no, the voice yelled. You’re not easy. You’re not a slut! But her face disagreed. Her cunt disagreed. Being an easy slut for her molester—her molester!—felt incredible.
Then it dawned on her: she was about to cum! She was trembling, her knees were buckling.
And he must’ve felt her cunt beginning to squeeze his fingers tighter. He whispered in her ear, “That’s a good girl, just let it go. Give in. You know you want to be a whore for me. Good whores get to cum.” His warm breath was exquisite.
“I can’t. Not like this!” Julie protested, but her eyes were rolling back in her head. And her reflection wasn’t that of a victim or a good girl. What she glimpsed was a slut. The sort of girl who happily spread her legs so a strange man could touch her, could abuse her slutty cunt.
She felt the broad pad of a finger pressing against her asshole as he continued to finger-rape her gushing pussy. “Oh!” She cried. She loved anal—she let herself enjoy her own fingers there when she really wanted to cum hard, not caring in those moments about how much of a slut it made her to get off from playing with her ass. She was gone now: she came. And came. Her orgasm tore through her, claiming her spasming cunt. She felt it in her asshole and in her abs, which were clenching and clenching.
“Yeah, squirt for me, bitch,” he whispered in her ear as she came. Was she squirting? Her legs felt wet, but all she could feel was the pry of his fingers in her cunt, on her pulsing, puckered asshole, and the bliss of her climax.
She was gasping. She was coming down. She had no idea how long her orgasm had lasted. Her mind started to race as it recovered from what he had done to her—how he’d made her his molested bitch. She shame of it made her body hot. He was keeping her pressed against the glass. But then her mind rang again. How many stops had it been since the last? Did anyone see? Her thighs were definitely damp—with her own squirt from what he had said—and she felt like she could smell her sex in the air. His fingers were no longer in her. She ached. She’d never cum that hard before.
The train slowed, the sure sign of entering a station. The man put his hand on Julie’s waist, and she felt him tug her towards the train door. She glanced over and saw that his other hand was holding her pink backpack, she felt that he had at least righted her skirt so she wasn’t sauntering out with her ass on display. Her gaze just reached his shoulders.
“Move,” he barked quietly. “And don’t fucking look up at me.”
Her post-cum legs were jelly and his words sent a shiver through her compliant body. She couldn’t fight him as he pushed. “This isn’t my stop,” Julie said as she was forced to march.
“It is now,” he sneered. His hand pressed firmly into her lower back now, steering her, beckoning her through the station and up to the subway stairs. She recognized the stop name—it was well beyond where she normally got off, and she’d never been here before. She was afraid, but far too drained to do anything but obey.