Train 887
Copyright© 2026 by Virael de la Fer
Prologue
Drama Sex Story: Prologue - The laws and mentality of Asian countries have always felt alien to the rest of the world. Quiet streets, strict hierarchies, and a culture where silence is valued more than justice create a space where certain things can happen without anyone truly seeing them. What begins as a single violation escalates into something systematic and merciless. There is no rescue. Only the slow, deliberate destruction of a young woman who discovers that in some places the world simply looks the other way.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Blackmail Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction Crime School Tear Jerker DomSub Humiliation Rough Gang Bang Orgy Cream Pie Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Voyeurism Public Sex Caution ENF Violence
I felt nothing anymore.
Not the dull, aching pain in my ribs that should have pulsed with every thrust. Not the dizziness that ought to have swallowed me after the day before yesterday. No desire to run. No desire to cry. Not even the faintest attempt to resist. All of that had died inside. What remained was emptiness, mechanics, and indifference, counting the seconds in my head. Evenly. Like a metronome.
Another day. Another rape. Another complete stranger lifting and spreading my legs so he could shove his cock into me.
The train seat under my back was cold and sticky with the cum of the previous ones. My bra had been torn off at the third stop. I think it was the guy in the blue jacket. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him crumpling the white fabric in his fist before stuffing it away. My panties had been pulled down two stations earlier. The older one, the one who was already out of breath. He hadn’t rushed. He folded them neatly, like a souvenir, and slid them into his pocket. The blouse had held until the last stretch; now it hung in shreds. One sleeve was gone completely, the other clung by a thread. Only the knee socks and the shoes were left. White knee-highs, the elastic already stretched out of shape. For some reason no one had touched the socks or the shoes.
A cock moved inside me. Hot. Hard. A thrust — he drove in all the way. Fast strokes. I turned my face toward the seat back. Who he was, how he was dressed, what he looked like — none of it mattered anymore. Just another one. Maybe one of the ones from before. Faces had long since blurred into a single mass.
The tempo quickened. The station was close; he probably had to get off, so he took a savage, brutal rhythm. Every thrust sent a dull ache through my ribs — but the pain felt unreal, just a phantom. And there it was again. The body’s betrayal. The wetness grew stronger. My walls clenched around his cock on their own, gripping tighter, as if inviting him deeper. My clit, swollen from the friction, pulsed in time. The muscles of my stomach contracted in waves. Heat spread low in my belly. My thighs trembled. Inside everything was slick, hot, sticky. Every time he almost pulled out and slammed back in, air was forced out with a wet sound. The cum of the ones before him and my own juices ran down over my ass onto the seat, mixing with the earlier puddle.
Somewhere deep in my mind a scream...
No! No! Stop! This isn’t me! I don’t want this!
A familiar voice. Mine. The Mika who had lived inside a week ago. The one who had believed a long skirt would save her. The one who had cried in the shower and scrubbed her skin raw.
Quiet, little one, I told her silently. It will all be over soon. Everything.
The answer came from somewhere deeper still, a place without fear or hope. Little Mika wasn’t listening. She was thrashing down there in the depths of my soul, weakly, like a butterfly in a jar. But it was already known: the body reacts to friction. The clit doesn’t ask who is touching it. The walls contract by reflex. Physics. Not consent. Not approval. Mechanics. Physiology. It had been studied thoroughly — over these days, these nights, every time I had to lie like this and wait for it to end.
Self-disgust burned my skin worse than the grip on my hips. But beneath it was a quiet, calm knowledge. The body doesn’t betray. The body simply works. People betray. The ones who look away. The ones who stay silent. The ones who allow it.
Someone grabbed my head — roughly, by the hair. Another one. Not the one inside me. He stood to the side, fly already open, cock throbbing. “Open your mouth.” I opened it. Not because I wanted to. Just because otherwise it would be worse. They would force it anyway. He pushed his cock into my mouth. I started sucking while he moved. Once, twice. That was all. He came fast. Hot spurts on my tongue, my lips, my cheeks. It ran down my chin, dripping onto the torn blouse. The taste was salty, bitter. I swallowed by reflex. Saliva flowed thicker. My body answered again — nipples hardening, stomach cramping. Between my legs everything kept contracting around the stranger’s cock.
I looked at the glass, where the neighboring car was visible.
There, beyond the glass, a woman in a light coat. And beside her a girl of about ten in a school uniform. Both were watching. The girl’s eyes were wide, mouth slightly open. The mother held her by the shoulder but didn’t look away. For a second our eyes met. Something flickered in hers. Not disgust. Not fear. Something almost human.
Then she noticed her daughter was staring at me. A hand settled on the girl’s cheek and gently but firmly turned her face toward the window while she said something. No sound reached me, but it was clear enough.
“Don’t look. It’s none of our business. Look out the window.”
The girl obeyed. She turned to the dark glass. Lesson learned. You don’t look at things like this. You don’t interfere. That’s how the adult world works — the one she will enter someday. Maybe to become me. Or maybe to one day turn to a window herself and tell herself, “This isn’t my business.”
The woman glanced once more — now with relief. In her eyes I read: Good that it isn’t my daughter. Good that it isn’t me.
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