It never occurred to me when I decided to visit a college friend in Asia that I'd end up a victim of different cultural attitudes toward women. I'd traveled in Europe frequently, always without incident. Besides, I never worried about riding public transportation in the middle of the day, not even in New York City. But I was in for a hard lesson about what can happen in broad daylight, if no one chooses to help you.
My friend, who called herself Susie in the states because her name was a bit difficult for anglos to pronounce, suggested a shopping trip into the city. Although I'd already been a little taken aback by the dense crowds of people thronging the streets and offices and stores, I didn't want to seem uncooperative, so I agreed. We walked to the train station and boarded a car that was already almost full to capacity. Sue grabbed hold of a metal pole near the door to steady herself, but as I reached for it, another influx of passengers shoved me back toward the center of the car. I could see Sue, and she smiled at me and loudly repeated the name of the stop we wanted, so I'd be sure to get off the train when she did.
The subway car got more and more crowded, and soon I was several feet from Sue. I was hemmed in on all sides and feeling distinctly uncomfortable with all the inadvertent contact with so many strangers. I didn't understand the babble of words all around me. More than anything I wanted to reach my destination and get off. I swore I'd never do this again. Taxis were expensive, but at this point I would have paid a lot to be outside, breathing fresh air. Suddenly a hand firmly clamped onto my behind. I was startled and annoyed, but not alarmed. It wasn't the first time a guy had tried to cop a feel on a bus or train. In France and Italy, I'd learned it sort of went with the territory, and I'd also learned to be firm but good-natured about chastising the culprit. Usually grabbing the guy's wrist and holding it in the air while asking, "who's hand is this?" brought laughter from the passengers, and a shrug of apology from the offender.
I tried to turn, but couldn't see who it was. So I reached behind me and tried to pull the hand away, but without warning, the man on my left grabbed my wrist and pulled it up behind my back. I struggled, but he kept staring straight ahead, expressionless, as if nothing were happening.
Within seconds, there were two hands fondling my rear, and I wasn't sure if it was one or two people. Desperately I tried to attract my friend's attention. She didn't hear me, so I spoke louder, realizing that most people would probably not understand what I was saying in English. "Susie," I called out, "someone's touching me. We have to get out of here."
Suddenly a hand snaked around in front of me and clamped onto my right breast. Another hand came from the left and circled my throat, not choking me, just hold me still. This time I was loud. "Susie! Help!"
She finally heard me, and peered around another passenger to get a glimpse of me. but my relief turned to horror when I saw from her eyes that she knew what was happening, but chose to simply shake her head sadly and turn her back. I couldn't believe it. What was she thinking?
"Sue!" I yelped one more time. But she didn't answer. When the doors opened at our stop, she turned to me and shouted. "This is how things are. If you cooperate, you'll be fine. It's happened to me a dozen times since I turned 16." With that, she left the train!
More people boarded. I tried to figure out if I should scream but one of them changed my mind for me. He let me see a glimpse of a wicked knife, and the message was clear. But surely they couldn't get away this in a crowded train with commuters and shoppers all around us.
What I didn't know at the time was that this was a common occurrence. Among the men of the city, molesting and utterly humiliating females on public transportation had been elevated to the level of a sport. While most men wouldn't admit to doing it, or even admit to watching it being done, they all seemed of one mind on the subject. Girls and women should not travel alone, and should not wear tight clothing. Whatever happened to them was their own fault because men would be men, and lone females were fair game. Even women who were not molested sometimes left the train only to find that some man had ejaculated on their coat or shopping bags. Part of it, I learned was pure ego. Usually only men with substantial equipment were willing to fuck publicly, perhaps to dispel the notion that Asian men were generally smaller in length and girth. This was not always true, and I discovered it first-hand.
Of course, I didn't know any of this at the time, and for a while I was in some hope that other men would rescue me from these two. Both of my breasts were being gripped hard, almost painfully. I looked down at a businessman seated directly in front of me. "Help," I whispered, but he just stared at the two seemingly disembodied hands that were mauling my breasts. He watched with obvious amusement and satisfaction as my skirt began to creep up my things. The higher it went, the more pleased he was. And now the man sitting next to him was smiling and making some joke I didn't understand. He nodded and looked back at me. The man on my right turned to face me and I realized he was in on it, too. He leaned over, grabbed my face and turned it so that he could stick his tongue deep in my mouth. Other hands were under my skirt, yanking my panties down.
I squirmed, trying to get away, but I had no chance. The hands on my breasts were even more aggressive, jiggling, pinching, squeezing, rubbing. Then I felt his breath on my neck. "Nice big American tits," he whispered. "We like play with big tits. You like, huh?"
"No, I don't like," I said, gritting my teeth.
"Bet you do!" he laughed, shaking them by the nipples. "Bet you got nice wet pussy, too."
The businessman in front of me joined in the laughter and stuck his hand between my legs. The man behind pushed me closer so that the businessman could easily reach and to my shock, he spread my pussy and stroked his fingers through my slit. "Yes," he said, holding up his glistening fingers. "Wet. Must be big slut." The man behind me released his hold on my breasts, but only to yank my blouse open. "We want see your big titties. You show boss, yes."
Apparently the seated man in coat and tie was in league with the three men closing me in on all sides. Maybe even the one seated next to him. But I also learned later than once an assault began, other men often eagerly got into the act. As I said, this was a popular game.
I felt cold metal against first one shoulder, then the other, and realized my bra straps had been cut. Within seconds, it was down around my waist and my naked D-cup breasts were completely exposed. Thanks to the breeze from the slightly open window, and sheer panic, my nipples were rock hard. The man behind me shoved again and I was between the businessman's legs. He half-rolled, half-wadded my skirt up in the front and stuffed it in the waistband. I was standing in front of me virtually naked. He smirked at me as he reached for my crotch. Never breaking eye contact, he spread my pussy lips and ran his thumb over my clit. "you like?' he asked. "You like men touch pussy?"
"Stop it, please," I begged. "Leave me alone."
He chuckled and kept stroking. "No, no, no... you good slut. Wet pussy, hard nipple, very hot." Then he roughly jammed his fingers inside me. At the same time, hands gripped my breasts again, harder this time, flapping them up and down, yanking at the nipples, slapping them together, all to the immense amusement of the men in front of me. I could feel the man behind press his hips against my ass. The hard bulge in his pants was unmistakable. "I got cock for you," he said in my ear. "Big hard cock for fuck cunt. First boss fuck cunt, then we fuck." I was speechless. Surely they didn't mean to rape me, right her on the train, in view of who knew how many bystanders.
The businessman pulled his hand out of my pussy, wiped his fingers on my belly, then nodded to someone behind me, and instantly I was turned around to face the center of the train. Now I could see my other attackers. They were anywhere from 20 to 40. The one who'd first held my arm behind my back glared at me, his expression a mixture of contempt and cruelty, examining me like a piece of meat. The other two leered and smirked. I felt the businessman stand up behind me, hands fumbling. The men on either side of me yanked my legs apart and bent me over slightly. Then they pressed me down so that I had to bend my knees and almost start to squat. All three of them held me firmly in place, two with hands milking my breasts, while their boss had his fun. For him, that meant ramming his hard penis into my pussy without any preliminaries. I grunted at the painful sensation and they laughed softly. Someone grabbed my hair and lifted my head. In front of my eyes was a hard cock oozing precum. The man squeezed my jaw, forced my mouth open, and shoved himself in. Fortunately, his dick was not long enough to choke me, but still thick enough to stretch my lips.
.... There is more of this story ...