19 comments/ 52115 views/ 25 favorites The Five Finger Express By: empty_coffee_cup He woke up late, cut himself shaving and burnt his toast. On the way to the station he tripped on a kerb and fell, while other commuters rushed on either side of him, in too much of a rush to stop and laugh let alone help him up. Worst of all he'd run out of coffee at home without realising it. Carl Hurst was having a stereotypically bad morning. At the station he found that he'd somehow got himself there ten minutes before his train was due to leave. So he joined the queue of slouching addicts at the one coffee booth on the concourse, each and every one of them still rubbing their red-rimmed eyes or badly-shaven jaws. Carl yawned, contemplated his gut and tried to remember what he had to do at work today. Nothing interesting. The coffee took longer to obtain than he thought, so he found himself half-running, trying not to spill his coffee, through the station to get to his platform. The double-cupped beverage seemed to be burning its way out through the sides where he held it, and when he wasn't concentration the scalding liquid seeped out of the plastic cap and seared his fingers. Shit, which platform was it? Then he dropped the coffee. - - - Carl thought, for the millionth time, that living three stops from the train terminus and ten from the city centre was probably the worst possible place to live. The seats had already filled up, so every day he had to stand, but there was still a forty five minute journey ahead of him that he had to stay rocking on his aching legs for. And when a seat became available he couldn't bring himself to take it - there was always some elderly lady to smile at and wave into it. No of course I don't mind you old bag, take a load off! And every day as more and more people piled onto the train at every stop he would get pushed further and further along the carriage, getting crushed against the door at the end that led to the next car. So it was today, that after only two stops he found that he had been shuffled all the way to the end, so that his shoulder was resting against the corner of the carriage doorway. At least he wouldn't have to hang ape-like from the dangling handles - he could rest his weight against the rounded fibreglass wall of the train and relax a little more that way. Glancing around he took the contents of the car in briefly. Suits, suits and more suits. Men and women, young and old; no one he recognised, no one from his office. A sea of faces, heads, arms and shoulders. Carl wasn't all that tall so he had no kind of vantage point, and the occupants lucky enough to get a seat were completely invisible to him. God, it was even busier today than normal. He turned his back to the carriage and leaned against the shallow doorframe, looking out of the window into the next carriage. Things there were no better, but at least the girl in the doorway opposite him had space to get her book out of her bag. He had a book but getting it out would involve elbows and shoving and he was just too polite. He risked spending a few moments looking at the young woman facing him, only a few feet away, but lost in her book and completely oblivious to his existence. If they'd been right next to each other it would probably be the same though - she was so pretty and he... well he was just a nerdy-looking loser, getting paunchier every month. He watched as she licked her finger, a totally unselfconscious movement, and used the wet tip to turn the page of her book. Her mousy hair was tied up in a knot at the back of her head and she was wearing a long, stylish, fitted houndstooth coat that accentuated her slim frame. Carl sighed - another ideal girlfriend that he had no chance with at all. At the next station, incredibly, more people forced their way on and Carl, fighting to keep enough room to breathe, felt bodies and elbows and shoulders pushing against him until the doors bleeped closed and he found himself well and truly sardined. Oh this was going to be a joy. It was just after this happy thought that he felt the body behind him shift, and the pressure of two soft shapes being squashed against his back. For a moment he didn't think anything of it, but then with a start he realised what was happening. Some poor woman was being forced by the crush to come up right behind him - she was probably as utterly trapped as he was. And her breasts - and now by the feel of it most of her body - was being forced into him. Carl blushed, he was a typically geeky guy and close, personal dealings with members of the opposite sex put him on edge, no matter how inadvertent or accidental they may be. He found himself paralysed by a spiralling nightmare scenario in which the woman behind him thought he was a depraved monster, grinding himself against her. She screamed, the other passengers restrained him and he was dragged from the train by the cops at the next station. It was unlikely, but this was still more than a little awkward. He shifted forward - as close to the door as he could while still retaining enough room to breathe and not feel like he was going to die - but of course that didn't work. The population of the carriage took the extra few inches he'd found and expanded to fill it. The woman ended up pinned against him even harder. She seemed to be about his height, a little shorter perhaps and even with the other people pressed around him - a large, grey haired gent was leaning on his arm slightly and partially pinning him to the wall - she seemed to be very, very tightly pressed to him. He could feel her right thigh too, hard and hot against the back of his right leg. The mass of humanity shifted, and for a moment she was almost spooning him, her pelvis thrust forward against his ass, her breasts squashed even harder against his back. He had to say something. He craned his neck to the right, trying to see over his shoulder, to catch her eye and apologise, but he couldn't see her. Just a hundred red, sweating, fuming faces, trapped in this human cattle-car with him. Shoulders and necks and arms, but he couldn't turn enough to see his... his 'dance partner'. He turned the other way, peering over his left shoulder, but his field of vision there was much more limited, mostly filled by the doorframe he was squashed into. But this side he could see, at the very edge of his vision, a slight blur of red hair - the woman! Maybe she was leaning her head that way slightly. Carl decided to risk it. "Ah, excuse me. Sorry about the... um... pushing. Pushing into you, I mean - I'm not trying to push... it's just... ah..." Carl was rarely eloquent, but his apology was plumbing new depths. It was greeted by silence, and he guessed that either she hadn't heard, or that she was so mortified by the whole thing that she had nothing to say. He turned back to the window and looked at the faint reflection of his blushing face, embarrassment written in bold all over it. "Oh, that's ok," the sudden response would have made him jump, were he not being pinned side on against the door frame. The sentence was expressed so close to his left ear, and so softly, that it must have been audible only to him. "It's not your fault, after all." Carl blushed, with relief this time, and smiled. The voice was young, but low and slightly hoarse. When he turned his head again, he caught the scent of some flavoured tobacco, but the face of the girl remained tantalisingly out of sight. "Thanks," he said, not trusting him to say anything else without making a complete fool of himself. "No, thank you!" the voice rose slightly into a purr of amusement and Carl felt its owner shift against him. Woah! She was hard against him now, there was barely an inch of his back that the heat of her body was not pressed against. From the soft curve of her breasts, to the firm bone of her pelvis - it felt like she was going to burn through the thin material of Carl's shirt and suit. The train was hot, but she was hotter. Thank him? Why? Carl wasn't exactly approaching 40-Year-Old-Virgin territory, but it had been a few years since he'd been this close to a woman, and he felt his pulse start to quicken. Should he say something else? What did that mean? His instinct was to just ignore it and play dumb, and he looked straight ahead, swallowing nervously. But straight ahead was the slight reflection of his face, contorted into a comical mask of worry, and he couldn't look at that so he looked again into the next carriage. Yet that was even worse because he immediately saw that cute girl in the houndstooth coat and felt his pulse quicken even more. "Oh, you're shy? You don't want to know why I'm thanking you?" the voice was suddenly back at his ear, and this time so close that he could feel the girl's hot breath tickling his lobe. "I'm thanking you," she continued, her voice sweet but far from innocent, like the best operators on those phone-sex lines he used to call, "because although you don't look like much, you have such a nice, tight ass." Carl froze. What the hell had she just said? Had she said he had a nice ass? He wanted to turn around, to shift himself in the pack of bodies and face this mystery woman, but she was so close, her face so near his ear, that he would immediately be wrestling with her to do so. "It's nice to be squished up against such a cute butt," she continued, and Carl could feel her cute, perfect diction - the sharp breath of every 'T' hitting his sensitive ear and adding to the fugue of confusion that was shrouding him. "I mean, sometimes you can be trapped against some flabby old man with a sagging ass... ugh. I much prefer a young, tight ass to... you know, grind against." And suddenly she was doing exactly that, moving her hips as much as she could in the packed carriage to grind her pelvis against his defenceless backside. Carl couldn't breathe, his throat was tight and inches from his nose his reflection showed a man in a state of shock. And naturally, down in the light material of his suit pants, he felt his prick getting hotter and heavier as it filled with blood. Fuck! What the hell was going on? Suddenly she leaned away and the pressure on him diminished. Was she done? Done teasing him? Carl swallowed again, watching his adam's apple bob in the window. He didn't know whether he wanted this whole mortifying trip to be over, or for her to continue. Her voice was... so goddamn hot! But clearly she wasn't finished with him yet as he felt her hand now, fingers spread, pushed firmly into his left ass-cheek. She grabbed a hold of his cheek and squeezed it forcefully, getting a good feel of it this time. God, he was being... groped on the train! What kind of Twilight Zone had he stumbled into this morning? She cupped and squeezed and massaged it again and again; working strong, demanding fingers into the meat of his rear - as if appraising livestock. His dick lengthened, responding to this despite his fear. "Yeah, just what I thought. That's a delightful ass you've got there." Could anyone else in the carriage see this? See what she was doing to him? He was paranoid, but he had to think that probably they couldn't. Through the forest of heads and limbs they must be almost invisible at this end of the carriage. Christ, she could do whatever she wanted to him! "You used to do sports right?" Carl didn't answer, didn't know whether he should. "When I ask you a question just nod or shake your head a little to answer, ok?" Carl nodded. In the window he tried to catch the reflection of the girl's face behind him, but there was only a silhouette, a curl of hair. She shifted her weight slightly, her tits still hard against his back, her chin now on his shoulder for a second and then her right hand on his right cheek, giving it the same rough mauling that she had given the left one. His balls bobbed between his legs; he was getting harder and harder. Was she trying to get him hard so that when he got off he'd be humiliated - sporting a massive boner through his suit pants? "A cute ass, and you're not bad looking either," the predatory purr of a big cat, sizing up it's meal, "You're letting yourself go a little though, and those glasses and that hair? Terrible idea. Your suit is a horrible fit too, look at all this loose fabric," the girl yanked at the back of his pants, pulling them away from his ass. Then, just as quickly, she brought her hand back again and jammed the bunched fabric between his cheeks with a pointed finger. Carl couldn't help jumping this time. Not only was she jabbing at his ass in a very... intrusive way, but bunching the cloth of his pants up like that dragged his balls back under his body and bent his thickening cock in a way that turned him on even more. She released him after a moment, but he knew his ordeal was far from over. "But, y'know..." he wanted to turn her head and tell her to stop, but he couldn't move his neck, let alone his tongue. In a way this was a wet dream come true (in fact, he wasn't sure he wasn't still dreaming all this still) but Carl wasn't an adventurous guy - he'd rather his fantasies stayed in his head and his daily life continued in as seemly a way as possible. The girl's left hand was back, gently squeezing and stimulating his left cheek while her right hand, as he had feared it would, was slipping around his waist. "Y'know, girls are interested in more than butts." Oh God, oh God, oh God. There it went, her clever little hand snaking it's way over his hip, touching his belt and then slipping into his suit pocket. She left his ass alone now, pushing herself against him full length again and bringing her other hand around to rest on his chest. He was painfully aware of her hand as it slipped, centimetre by centimetre over the trembling flesh of his thigh. And his traitorous prick, thickening more, trapped by his boxers but rising up to meet her. He looked into the reflection in front of him, over his shoulder and back into the train. There were so many people, nothing but people, and none of them were noticing this! He could call for help, he could! But that would be... ludicrous! This girl is molesting me? Who would believe him? And besides, there was some part of him that was... accepting this, allowing it, wanting it. "Good boy," the girl purred, resting her chin on his shoulder to wrap her arms around him, "just let me play with you a little. I promise I won't break anything!" She seemed to find that incredibly amusing, her cool, low voice breaking into a breathy giggle. The sound of the train, a little conversation, the tinny ring of headphones - they were all drowning out her voice to everyone except him. Her hand explored his pocket, pushing down and across and sure enough, finding his fattening tool took her no time at all. And as she felt its shape, exploring it through his pocket and his underwear with the same commanding grip she had used on his ass, they both couldn't help but gasp. "Wait..." the word was on Carl's lips, but he barely pushed it out. He didn't see how he had any hope of controlling this situation anymore. His eyes glanced frantically this way and that - could anyone see this? The old guy next to him? He seemed to be asleep, leaning against the other side of the doorframe. The girl in the next carriage? Still lost in her book, still cute as anything. "Oh there it is!" there was a low chuckle that Carl only felt, through her chest into his, "And you don't disappoint there either!" Her fingers traced his shape and he felt her probing, coaxing his cock into a more and more swollen, turgid state. "A nice thick, curving shaft; a hard, hot, bulging head," every word that dropped from her pouting lips stoked his fire making him harder and harder. She was narrating her progress as her fingers dove down further. "And two big, heavy balls, just full of hot, sloppy come. Am I right?" Carl couldn't move. "Yes or no?" her voice had an edge, Carl knew he had to answer, he nodded sharply, blushing even harder to find that he had little control over his body now. Her hand moved back from his balls to his shaft and started rubbing it now, half jerking him through two layers of fabric. Carl felt his heart in his chest, feeling bigger, beating harder. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, desperately willing himself not to release the groan of pleasure that wanted out of his lungs. His prick was so hard, and though his boxers were pretty tight it was out away from his thigh now, proud and demanding more attention. The girl - his attacker - seemed happy to oblige. "Do you watch porn Mister?" she continued, pulling on his foreskin and dragging it down forcefully. He felt moisture and knew that his pre-cum was staining his underwear under her clever ministrations. He nodded though, scared not to answer. Her hand went up and down again, tugging on him maddeningly. "Do you have a girlfriend?" he paused, he wasn't sure why, before shaking his head, "Jerk off every day?" Again he paused, these questions were so personal, he was giving parts of himself away so cheaply. But then... he was the prey here, and he found it so easy now to just answer her questions and not put up a fight. He nodded. "Jerk off this morning?" he shook his head. He hadn't come last night either, he had been planning to squeeze one out tonight to a new DVD he had ordered. God, she could probably imagine even that - she had his number now. She moved herself more to the right, so that she could reach around him more easily and thrust her arm even further into his pocket. He felt her tits squeezing and sliding sideways across his back a couple of inches and bit his lip. Oh God, he was getting dizzy; and while his brain was still stumbling and lurching around like a drunkard, his body knew exactly what it was doing - getting aroused and ready to fuck. She could really curl her fingers around his solid shaft now, grabbing it through his clothes and squeezing tight. She slid her hand all the way up to his hot, bulging head and started to massage the back of it with her thumb. Carl managed to turn his groan into a cough as his prick jerked and twitched in her hand. It felt so good - if she wanted to make him come, to make him shoot his pathetic load and soil his underwear, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He had hands too, but they were useless, one tucked into his left pocket, the other hanging down dumbly. He couldn't use them to stop her, he wasn't strong enough, mentally. "Good," her chin on his shoulder still, her words hot, melting into his ears, "I'll be the one making you come today, ok? Although you'll probably need to jerk off again once you get to work, won't you?" Carl swallowed, not realising she needed an answer. She squeezed his dick sharply and he flinched, nodding quickly afterwards. "You'll be sitting at your desk thinking about what happened to you on the train this morning, and your fat prick will get all hard again, won't it?" He nodded. "And then you'll have to get up, bent over so no one can see your bulging pants, and run to the bathroom to jerk your hot spunk out - thinking of me - won't you?" Carl squeezed his eyes shut, praying for a little control over the situation, but he nodded obediently again. She started jerking him then. Before, her hand had been moving so slowly, just rubbing and massaging his thick shaft and the come-slick head of his member through the cloth of his garments. But now it gripped him and started to pump, pulling his sensitive foreskin up and then down, squeezing him tightly as it gripped the tip, and pulling down - almost too hard - as it got to the root. Carl started to breathe harder, trying to focus himself and keep some semblance of control, but the girl wouldn't shut up. "Don't say anything, by the way. Don't even think about trying to get away. And don't try to deny you're enjoying this." Her voice was so calm, so cool. She seemed to have no fear of being caught, and her absolute confidence did calm Carl down a little. "Oh! You're getting really turned on aren't you? You're little dick is all twitchy and jumpy in my hand!" her light giggle was hypnotic, lulling him dangerously. He felt sparks in his fingers and toes, a pressure, a tightness in his balls. The Five Finger Express So what if he came here in his pants? It would be embarrassing but he could change out of his underwear in a bathroom somewhere, maybe even get some new ones. If he was really lucky his sticky come wouldn't stain his suit pants at all. Carl's endorphins, his throbbing prick, were reassuring him. This felt so good, there was no need to stop it now, just let her use you, let her play with you until you come - a hot wet mess in your boxers. Carl started to feel, for the first time, that this was a good thing. Then she opened her mouth again: "I think it needs some air..." What? Carl squirmed as her hand released his cock and slipped from his pocket lithely. She was so quick, already her fingers were fumbling for his fly, tugging on his zipper, he had to stop her! But when he shifted the old man next to him grumbled and almost came out of his doze, and he found himself freezing. What could he do? This crazy woman was about to expose him, drag his naked genitals out, right here on the train. This was going beyond a tease, and into a whole new kind of game. He tried to move his left hand, bringing it out of his pocket to stop her, but her left arm was around him too, her palm flat on his chest, pinning his own limb in place. And now his fly was coming down, the soft buzz of the zipper reverberating throughout his body. He looked down incredulously and saw her fingers for the first time - young, free from blemish, moisturized, tipped with green nail polish. Then he saw them disappear inside his gaping fly. "Now, now, don't struggle, don't fuss," he could hear the smile in her voice, "I only want to make you feel good. I just want to make this little prick spurt its creamy filling, and if you shoot off in your own undies you'll make an awful mess, won't you?" Carl's heart was hammering, he nodded. "Didn't my hand feel good on your prick?" He nodded again. "And don't you want to make me happy? Don't you want to come for me?" He heard the disappointment, the sullen pout with which she said that, and was surprised how much it stung. Oh God, her fingers were tugging on his boxers and his prick was bobbing and straining. Of course he wanted to make her happy... but why? His eyes dropped again. One hand was still exploring his boxers, finding the best way to free his manhood from their restrictive embrace. She wasn't even rubbing him deliberately now, but every time her fingers did brush his jutting cock it leaped and ached for her attention. The other hand was flat on his chest, on his shirt, just inside the lapel of his suit, stroking him as if soothing a wild horse that was about to be saddled for the first time. His breath was becoming heavier, getting louder and louder in his ears. "Oh, oh..." she murmured, and he knew she had found the opening on the front of his loose boxers that would give her total access to him, and total control over him. "Here it comes..." again that light, taunting giggle and then he felt hot-wired, electrocuted as the hot skin of her fingers came into contact with the meat of his cock. She gripped it and pulled it so cleverly that it barely took a second before it was done, and there it was: his swollen, tumescent member, sticking up naked and exposed into the public air of the carriage. His breath caught in his throat, he sobbed. He was facing the door, that was the luckiest thing. He wasn't facing back into the carriage, and the only person who would possibly have been able to see his shame, his exposure, was the old guy who seemed to be out cold on his right arm. In front of him there was a few inches of space between him and the window and that gave his assailant all the room she needed to start jerking him. She really had done a number on him though. His prick was so hard he was almost proud to see it; it was fat and nicely proportioned - he hoped - and the hard, red helmet was glistening with the seed he had already produced. She ran her perfectly manicured thumb over it as he watched, smearing his early come down the shaft and making him shudder with pleasure. "What a gorgeous fucking prick," she purred, "I can see it in the reflection Mister, and let me tell you I am going to enjoy making this one come." Carl made the tiniest of noises in his throat, a sound of frustration and helplessness. She heard. "Oh, don't be like that! There's nothing you can do anyway, you're mine now." Her words, little more than hot, sharp gasps in his ear, cut into him like blades. As he watched, her fingers curled around his shaft and she started to jerk him properly, using his own slippery lubricant to make the entire length of him slick and sticky. "Standing here with your prick out on a crowded train?" she continued, "What a dirty, dirty pervert you are." Carl shuddered and risked shaking his head, "Oh yes you are, you bad boy. You could have asked me to stop... I might have ignored you, but you could have asked. Now look, I'm going to wank your stupid cock until you come right here, with all these people around us. Do try not to make a noise, ok? Oh, and look!" her giggle lashed him like a whip, "In front of our cute little audience member there." What was she talking about? Carl's head was spinning; each torn, tortured breath seemed to rip out of him at deafening volume. How come all the other people in the carriage couldn't hear him? And what did she mean audience? No one else could see him, there was no cute audi... His eyes snapped up and he stared out into the next car, and his heart sank. There, her book lowered, her mouth slack in astonishment, the cute girl he had developed an instant crush on earlier was standing, staring at his red, throbbing member. Her eyes flickered in a quick triangle: from his cock, to the mask of humiliation that his face had set into, to a point just over his left shoulder where he supposed she could make out the face of his tormentor. "Oh. My. God," the voice growled in his ear, "You are so dirty." He shook his head desperately now, denials ready on his lips but without the guts, without the balls to make them. "Yes you are, exposing yourself to a pretty little girl like that. Getting your big naked cock out and wanking it in front of her." "I'm not!" his voice was a high, tiny, pathetic whine. He sounded like a snivelling loser. "Look! You're showing it to her!" the girl behind him slipped her fingers to the base of his shaft and gripped it firmly, then started to bend it left and right, then jiggle and shake it. It did look, in a sick, depraved way, like he was waving his cock at the cute girl opposite him. He squeezed his eyes shut and another sob escaped his tight, aching throat. She was humiliating him in front of that gorgeous girl! "Actually," the voice in his ear became more conversational, "I don't want to gross her out on her morning commute. Maybe she doesn't want to see your big ugly prick coughing up sperm first thing in the morning." Carl held his breath. "Let's see." His attacker released him for a moment and both of her hands came up before him, palms upwards in a questioning gesture. She pointed down with her two index fingers, aiming them right at his poor, throbbing dick, then made a thumbs up with her left hand and a thumbs down with her right. Carl looked over at the girl in the other carriage, the only witness to his shame and humiliation. Her slack jawed look of horror was gone, and she had folded her book closed. Thumbs down, he thought, tell her you don't want to see me come! Please! But although she was making a curious frown, directed pointedly over his shoulder, she didn't seem to be disgusted by the naked cock she was being shown. In fact, as Carl watched, a slow, dirty smirk spread across her pretty face. His hope was torpedoed and sank without a trace. Thumbs up. Carl looked up at her face, his expression pleading with the other girl - don't do this, make her stop. But the girl just smirked at him, tucked her book back into her bag and crossed her arms - focussing her attention completely on him. Typical - he had wanted her attention before, but he only got it once his whole world had been turned upside down. "Oh look! She likes it! She likes your prick, Mister!" the voice in his ear was triumphant, demonic, "She wants to see it come, aren't you lucky?" "Please," Carl reached deep down inside himself and found the strength to protest, "Please, don't..." The girl's right hand settled back around his shaft and started to pump, to work him with strong, merciless strokes. Her left hand came back to his chest, but this time instead of just stroking him, she sought out his left nipple. He prepared himself just in time, or the sharp pinch she gave his tender flesh would have made him squeal out loud. "No, no I'm afraid you had your chance to complain, and you stayed quiet," she explained, "All you get to do now is come." Her hand always moving on him, controlling him, "Now shall I jerk you fast, like this?" her hand became a blur and the jolts of pleasure made Carl lurch forward. The old guy grumbled again. Fuck, he was getting closer. "Or shall I jerk you nice and slow?" Suddenly she was toying with him at a snail's pace, pulling back down on his shaft and then slowly, slowly ascending it again. His cock started to ache. She pinched his other nipple, and he felt so cheap and easy. His face in the window was blushing and crumpled with despair and shame. What the hell could he do? Through two panes of reinforced glass the other girl was waving. She brought her hands together and made two small circles with her fingers and thumbs, then pointed down at his bare shaft. What? "Oh, of course!" the sickly sweet voice hissed, "How could I forget. She wants to see your balls too!" Carl hung his head as the pinching and tugging of his poor, sensitive nipples continued, and as the green-tipped fingers dove back into his underwear and grabbed his heavy, come-filled balls. She fished them out past the opening of his boxers, out of the zipper of his pants, pushing that fabric back, until his hairy sack was hanging right out there. Yet more exposed, he thought, his heart hammering. Yet more humiliated. She paused before continuing her stroking, to tug his cock and balls around a little more, showing him off to the observer in the other car. She cradled his sack gently, lifting it so that his cock was pushed back, and a smear of his come was drawn across the charcoal grey of his pants. He almost didn't care, it was the least of his problems. In the other carriage the girl cracked a frown of a appraisal and gave another thumbs up. He didn't want to look at her, wanted so very badly to pretend that none of this was happening, that the pretty girl in the houndstooth coat wasn't watching him being displayed and handled like some piece of meat. But then, that was all he was now, some hot, hard meat for the girl with green nails to play with, and the girl in the coat to watch. Two of them now, twice the shame. He tried to swallow but his throat felt tight, swollen shut. When he shifted slightly he felt the cold wet sweat that was staining his shirt across the chest and in the armpits. "Oh God," he felt her lips brush his ear, she was so close, "I could play with you for hours, and I'm sure out friend there wants the show to go on. But we've only got a few minutes left, baby." Carl gasped with relief, but then realised that her fingers were wrapped tight around him. Then she was pumping, and he'd had produced so much come already that the tight sheath of her hand was almost perfectly lubricated. She was good, so good, following the contours of his shaft, applying extra pressure at the end of each stroke, coaxing him, bringing him closer and closer to the inevitable finale. "Look," she whispered, and Carl looked. The girl through the glass was mesmerised now, not looking up at Carl's face, or his molester, just biting her lip and watching the green-painted nails slide up and down, up and down, quick now, quicker than before. Carl realised he was panting, gasping, and he fought to control his breathing. If people saw him now... if they knew... "Oh she likes your cock, Mister. Maybe she's thinking about sucking it? Wrapping those cute little lips around your fat, filthy cock and letting you spurt your slimy come onto her tongue. Would you like that?" Carl couldn't answer, every breath was a raw, tearing effort. Every thump of his heart threatened to knock him off his feet. "Oh my God, your prick is twitching again Mister. I think you're going to come any second aren't you? You're going to spurt your boy-come out here in this carriage, with all these people around you, and that cute little girl watching you as you completely lose control." Carl whined and squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back. The voice kept pushing, "As you completely disgrace yourself." Her hand was hot, tight, irresistible, unstoppable. And still she wouldn't shut up, whispering filthy encouragement into his ears as his balls, tingling in the humid air of the train, clenched and he knew that he would come. Even if she just released his cock now, he would be coming any second, he was too far gone and that final surrender - knowing that he couldn't escape this last humiliation anymore - almost came as a relief to him. "Oh, oh. Here it comes. Oh your whole body is shaking! Give me that come you little pervert, come for me. For me and her..." And Carl's body gave in. He shuddered - a tight full body spasm that he fought to control, as his testicles gave up their precious, thick load and finally surrendered completely to her control. He came so hard he thought his heart would burst from his chest to join the spunk that was exploding from his prick. He looked down to see that the first goopy string of his seed had splattered against the glass of the window before him. And she kept working his shaft so exquisitely, so excruciatingly, that for a split second he thought he might shame himself further by passing out. He watched as she milked him, squeezing and pumping as spurt after spurt of his pearly jizz pulsed out of his jumping cock. What were these feelings? Shame, humiliation, but also a kind of pride - she had picked on him, molested him, but they had done this together, and she had singled him out, complemented him on his prick, on his ass. But she had made him into little more than an object, grabbing and squeezing his nipples and slightly flabby chest as if he were a hooker, something she'd paid for and owned completely. Fuck, he was still coming, little kicks finishing him off now as his spunk trickled down over her fingers. He hoped he could at least avoid staining his own pants too much. People would know, at work, he was sure they would. He looked at the mess he'd made on the train window and the door, his pearly come splattered and trickling down in abundance. God, he felt so sorry for the other passengers who would have to look at that, and the staff who would have to clean it up, but it wasn't his fault. Was it? When he looked up, the object of his instant crush - the girl in the houndstooth coat - was silently applauding him. She was blowing a kiss - not to the girl who had claimed him, but to him. He was so confused, was this a dream? "I think we made her morning a little more interesting, don't you?" The way she said 'we' made his heart flutter. His prick was still hard - she had been absolutely right, he would definitely need to jerk off again at work. But she was just caressing it now, and carefully so as not to rub her come-laden digits against his suit. "Good boy, by the way. You barely made a sound, and no-one - except her - noticed. You were a very, very good toy." Carl's face was hot with blood. Was this... pride? But she had completely dominated him, destroyed his masculinity, humiliated him in public! "Put yourself away carefully now." She ordered, and her hands disappeared from his crotch and his chest. He felt the absence acutely. He did as she said, dragging his crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the worst of his seed. His cock was so sensitive still, she had jerked him so well that he couldn't help but wince as he wiped under the sensitive head. Then he tucked away his half-hard manhood with perfect timing. The train was slowing - they were approaching the city centre. The girl in the next carriage was smiling and pretending to fan herself. He couldn't look at her, she had been witness to the most shameful event of his life. He felt like he might never erase the hot, red blush that was staining his cheeks. Suddenly the hot, sharp voice was back in his ear. "You were such a cute little trick," she purred. The train was almost stopping. They must only have seconds, and when the crowd moved he would turn and see her, see the face that went with the green nail polish. He winced and flinched, had she just called him a trick? "I hope I get pushed up behind your cute little bum again. And in case I don't, my email address is on the bus ticket in your pocket." Carl's eyes widened, shocked. "If you want me to come and own you like the little animal you are sometime..." her lips brushed his earlobe, he shivered, "just drop me a line." And with that the train stopped. The old man next to him woke with a yawn and glanced around, wrinkling his nose. Oh God, he can smell my spunk, Carl realised, but after a second the man lost interest and straightened up ready to disembark. Carl wanted to look at the girl in the next carriage, see what she was doing, but he just couldn't make himself. And anyway his head was full of thoughts of the girl behind him. He could still feel her shape, her breasts against him. Any second now, the door would open and... A sharp elbow in his back made him squawk with alarm. A split second before the doors opened and she was moving, elbowing and shoving people aside roughly to get to the door first. The carriage was filled with shouts of protest and curses. He could turn now, but when he did he found that she was already lost in the head and shoulders in front of him. He saw flashes of her red hair as she parted the mass of humanity, and heard her voice raised for the first time. "Sorry! Sorry, I'm going to be sick! Excuse me!" Well, she certainly wasn't worried about people noticing her - that was for sure. And she'd slipped away before he'd managed to get a look at her. The doors opened and he moved with the crowd, eager to get away from the incriminating stains and smears on the window, the door, the floor. He hurried through the station, but as he was leaving the platform he saw a blur in front of him that stopped him cold. Red and houndstooth. Red hair and a houndstooth coat. The girl with red hair and green nails was trotting ahead, almost arm-in-arm with the girl in the houndstooth coat. They were talking, giggling together. They had...? His blood felt chilled, and fizzed with almost fatal embarrassment. He didn't want to think what that meant, and though he knew he should say something, anything to them, to show that he hadn't cared, that they hadn't gotten to him, he found that he was walking slower so that they would leave well ahead of him. After that he kept his head down, but even doing that was embarrassing because he could see the single stain of spunk that was drying on his pants from when his tormentor had been roughly showing the other girl his genitals. And even the thought of that brought another rush of blood to his groin. It wasn't until he was halfway to his office that he risked slipping his hand into his pockets. There it was, in his right pocket, a thin, folded slip of paper. And when he drew it out, just as she'd promised, her email address. Harmony? Was that her name? His heart pounded. Could he do it? Could he email her? She had controlled and shamed him, treating him as he had never been treated before and - to be honest - had never imagined he could be treated. But it had made him feel... alive. He folded the ticket back in half and slipped it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right over his heart. The Five Finger Express She had shown him, and that other girl too, that he had balls. She had groped them and pulled them free of his pants, then milked them for all their thick, creamy come. Now he just had to use them. - - - Author's note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Please take a moment to vote and comment; just like every other author here I really appreciate it when you do. I'm trying for something different in every story at the moment, so feedback is always appreciated. Also these characters are tangentially connected to those in some of my other stories, so check those out through my profile.