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.