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Kylie on the C-Train: Guest Post by All These Roadworks

Visit AllTheseRoadworks.com for eBooks, memberships, and more. Follow along with all of his updates on Twitter by clicking here.

This story contains themes of non-consent.


If you're familiar with my work, you've likely read some of the exceptionally creative stories by the master of fetish fiction, All These Roadworks. He's the author of the exceedingly dark and twisted novels TitCage and The Lesbian Debt, and one of my personal favorites.


This story is copyright of All These Roadworks. Posted with permission of the author.

These works are erotica, not politics, and the author urges everyone to base their sexual and romantic interactions on a foundation of respect, equity, safety, and positive enthusiastic consent. Please click here for a comprehensive discussion of his content policy.

Kylie was a repressed and sheltered girl. She had been raised to be chaste, and with that had come shyness. She dressed modestly. She didn’t make eye contact with boys. She knew that there were no wild parties, no drunken flings, and absolutely no sex before marriage in her future. She never touched her own cunt – she had done so once, and it felt so deliciously good that she had cried and jerked her hand away and pinched her nipples painfully as punishment for being sinful.

Life changed for her when she started riding the morning C-train to her entry-level secretarial job. Her job was in a part of the city dominated by male professionals. Every morning she was surrounded by anonymous men in suits, packed like sardines. She liked to stand near the window, where she could see out, and it didn’t feel so claustrophobic, but once she was there, it was almost impossible to turn or move until the train came to a stop.

On her very first morning, she felt a stranger’s hand slip under her skirt and begin to stroke her thighs.

She squeaked, and blushed, but then was silent. The man had pulled her skirt halfway up her legs. If anyone looked at her they’d see. She bit her lip and hoped it would stop.

But it did not stop. Her skirt was lifted higher, and then she felt a hand between her legs, stroking the crotch of her panties. She clamped her thighs together, but that only trapped the hand between them. She made a quiet little mewling noise of distress.

The trapped hand wriggled its fingers, getting them under the fabric of her panties, and she felt them touch her pussy. It was the first time since, presumably, she was a baby that a man had touched her cunt, and she jumped, electrified. And then moments later the man’s fingers had spread her cunt lips, pushed between, and sunk up to the knuckle in her fuckhole.

She moaned in distress. This was sinful. She was being finger-raped in public, by a stranger. She didn’t know what to do. If she struggled, she would call attention to herself, and everyone would know that a stranger had had his hand up her cunt on a public train. They would think she was a sinful whore.

So she stayed still, and let the fingers explore her cunt. She was aware she had become lubricated – in fact, her pussy was gushing with wetness. She was blushing bright red. The fingers inside her felt so good. It was hard not to moan. They began to slowly fuck in and out of her.

To her horror, she felt herself beginning to buck against the hand, trying to push it deeper inside her. She was helping this stranger to rape her right here on the train. But she couldn’t help herself. She felt a sensation growing inside her. She was horribly certain it was an orgasm, which she had heard about but never experienced. She wanted it. She wanted it badly.

And then suddenly the train began to slow. It was approaching a station. The fingers withdrew quickly from her pussy, and she almost screamed in frustration. She needed to cum. She needed to cum so much.

That was when the man reached around her, and wiped his hand across her face. She felt her own sticky cunt nectar smeared across her cheeks and eyes and lips.

And that was when she orgasmed.

She didn’t see who had abused her. She left the train flushed and breathing heavily and hoping no one could smell the scent of her sopping wet fuckhole or see her whore honey glistening on her face. She cleaned herself off at work but spent all day at work thinking about it. She had been such a sinful whore. But it had felt so good. Or… had she been sinful? She had had no choice. Someone had just done it to her. Surely it wasn’t her fault if someone did it to her? If she was forced?

The next day she could have caught a different train, or a taxi, or a lift with a friend. But, without admitting she was making a conscious choice, she caught the C-train again. And once again she was victimised.

It was fingers in her cunt again, but this time the fucking was much more vigorous, and she orgasmed with the hand inside her. Her juices were again wiped on her face afterwards, and this time she didn’t clean them off, thrilling at the feel and smell of the juice on her cheek, electrified by the fear that someone could tell it was there.

On the third day, her abuse changed. Instead of working his hand into her panties, her abuser instead grasped the hem and pulled them down her legs. She blushed as she was undressed on the public train, and stepped out of them quickly when they hit the floor so no one would see her with her panties around her ankles. Her abuser then lifted the rear of her skirt and tucked it into its own waistband, and used his knees to nudge her legs apart. Anyone looking at her would have seen her naked ass and cunt, legs spread, ready to be used. Then he fingerfucked her to orgasm again. Afterwards, as the train stopped, she felt as if there were a million judging eyes on her as she rearranged her skirt and bent to collect her underwear.

On the fourth day the train was so packed she couldn’t get to the window. She found herself standing face to face with a handsome young man in a suit. She was worried / relieved that the treatment she’d received previously wouldn’t happen today, but her attacker was not deterred. She soon felt the hands under her skirt, and before long she was stepping out of her panties and having her skirt lifted. Her face was bright red as she stared into the eyes of the man in front of her while she was exposed and violated. At first she couldn’t tell if he knew what was happening to her, but the fingerfucking was particularly rough today, and soon her body was being thrust back and forth, so that she banged tits-first against the man in front of her on every thrust. The knowledge that he knew what was happening to her and chose not to stop it made her orgasm quickly, and then a minute later she orgasmed again.

That day it happened to her on the way home as well. She wasn’t sure if it was the same attacker or someone new. Whoever this was probed her anus as well, which made her feel sick and violated but also helped her cum faster.

From that time onwards her violation rarely involved just one man. She was clearly getting a reputation as a girl you could play with on the train without consequences. The first time she felt a second set of hands squeezing her buttocks while her cunt was already being penetrated, she wanted to cry, knowing what a fucktoy she was becoming. But the knowledge that she couldn’t help it, that she was being forced, comforted her.

She didn’t always get her panties back at the end of the abuse now. Sometimes someone would steal them from the floor before she could retrieve them. Often these thieves would press the panties against her wet cunt to soak them in her juices before vanishing them away. She would spend the day at work bare-cunted and then have to buy more underwear on the weekend. One of her morning abusers liked to instead pick up her discarded underwear and then push it into her anus so it hung out like a little tail. On these days she left it there, even though she knew a good girl would pull it out once she was free. Its sway back and forth under her skirt reminded her of her delicious morning raping.

Many days now when she reached work, she would immediately turn around and catch another C-train home. These were largely deserted, the traffic being mostly in the other direction, but if she was wearing panties she would take them off on the train, knowing it’s what her abusers would want, and then put them back on when she got off. Then she would turn around again and catch yet another C-train back to town, getting the tail end of the commuter rush and one more chance to be violated.

Her abusers, ever bolder, began just taking her skirt off entirely, leaving her nude from the waist down on the train as they toyed with her pussy. Mostly she would get her skirt back, but sometimes she didn’t, and then she would have to blushingly travel home again completely bare-cunted and walk half-nude to her house to get another. This would have been humiliating enough, but her traitorous cunt would drool uncontrollably down her inner thighs the entire way, advertising her whorishness to anyone who saw her.

Men were groping her tits now too. There was a short stage of anonymous hands squeezing her breasts painfully through her shirt, and then only a couple of days later her shirt would be unbuttoned and her fuckbags pulled out of her bra into public view. There was a particular set of hands on both the afternoon and morning trains that liked to tug at her tits in firm milking motions, and after a week or so of this stimulus she noticed to her humiliation that her milk was starting to come in, and her tits were becoming larger, more sensitive, and had pale white fluid leaking from her nipples.

The first time someone stuck their cock in her cunt, she was staring into the eyes of a stranger, and he got to see as her eyes widened and she started to struggle. “Oh, no, no, no,” she moaned, realising that she was really, truly losing her virginity to a man she had never even seen on a public train, and that she was completely unprotected, not even on the pill.

She tried to pull away, but the man in front of her smiled, and grabbed her wrists, holding her still. The hands on her tits clamped down on her nipples, so that to struggle would pull on them painfully, and so she relented, and stood there, crying, as she was fucked in public by a stranger’s cock. Despite her tears, though, she still orgasmed twice, and then again when he ejaculated into her pussy.

She thought it might be over but another cock slid in almost as soon as the first pulled out, and she was fucked again. They kept her on the train when her stop came, holding her still so she missed it, and then she was fucked a third time. By the time they eventually let her go she was an incoherent mess. They kept all her clothes this time, so she was naked, sobbing, with the cum of multiple strangers dripping from her cunt. By any objective measure, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her in her life.

But she didn’t report it, of course. And she took the C-train again the next day… and the next…


 

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