The carriage doors slid shut. There were just the four of them inside now. Further up on the same side as herself was a couple, radiating the obsessiveness of new love. Next to her, on her right, the man. She hadn’t chosen him particularly; on the contrary, he’d sat down next to her because it was one of few seats left. But that was seven stations ago. Now, as the train left the station and accelerated into the tunnel, Becky felt the surge in her stomach.

She glanced across to check on the couple reflected in the window. They weren’t likely to notice anything, seeing how they were exclusively preoccupied with each other. Slowly she slid her eyes across, viewing herself in the glass; flaming red hair out of a bottle, prickly features daubed with war paint. She wouldn’t call herself pretty and she doubted anyone else would, but looks were superficial, weren’t they?

She turned her attention to the man. He looked bored, or perhaps the booze was wearing off, possibly both. There was definitely a smell of alcohol about him. His hair was dark and slightly ruffled. His mouth was thin, his shirt was open at the collar beneath the jacket. She imagined he’d been wearing a tie earlier and taken it off. Would she have chosen him if she’d a choice? It hardly mattered. In the game she played, you took what you could get.

Becky knew she had time. She’d done this so many times she’d learned to read body language perfectly. An intuition told her the man had a good few stations ahead of him. There was no need to get ahead of herself. She let the train pull into the next station, hoping fervently that no-one would embark. No-one did.

As the train accelerated into the tunnel, Becky checked quickly on the couple, then turned her attention back to the man. He seemed half asleep, but he was what she had. She pulled her right sleeve up. There was no reaction. She placed her hand just above her knee and moved it up and down the black nylon stretched across her leg, half stroking, half scratching. That got his attention. It was a manoeuvre that never failed.

She studied his reflection intently in the glass opposite. He was glancing down at her hand, her leg, her arm. He couldn’t fail to see the tattoo. She could tell that he saw it, there was that flicker in his eyes that she’d seen many times before as he became aware of the two words tattooed on her arm: “GROPE ME”.

Did he think it was a real tattoo, or just a temporary thing, a transfer, or henna? It didn’t matter. Not in the grand scheme of things, even though she was proud of herself for getting the real deal done. She felt the surge in her stomach again as she watched his mouth curve. He was thinking, perhaps weighing her up. She could see him looking at her reflection as she looked at his.

She could guess what he was thinking. One of those goth type girls, the tattoo a provocation rather than an invitation. To actually do the deed, well you just didn’t, you couldn’t. By the look of her she’d probably crush your nuts if you took the words seriously.

The men never took it as the invitation it was. Well, once, it had happened once, and she’d craved the thrill ever since. Perhaps she could make him understand. It wouldn’t be difficult. He could see she was looking at him, just as he was looking at her, in the reflection in the window.

The train slowed, pulling in to the next station. There was still no change. The couple further up the carriage stayed put, keeping their voices down, when they weren’t kissing of course. No-one embarked. The doors slid shut. Soon the train would emerge from its netherworld to an artificially illuminated overground, but that would make no difference to her, to the game. Becky ran purple nails lightly over black nylon. There must be a way to make the man understand.

Then the surge in her stomach was there with renewed force. The man’s hand was touching her, just grazing the side of her leg lightly, as if by accident, but she knew it was intentional; she could tell from the way he was appraising her, watching her reaction.

Her reaction. Yes, react. She fixed her stare on the man’s reflection in the window and nodded, almost imperceptibly, but enough. She watched as the man’s lips curved some more, a certain kind of hunger beating the lethargy of fading inebriation from his eyes. She moved her own arm, making space for him.

Just as the train emerged from the tunnel into murky, sodium-flecked townscape, it happened. For a split second Becky thought she was going to pass out from the thrill as the man moved his hand up and across to squeeze her thigh. She took a deep breath, and another, closing and opening her eyes. The man continued to squeeze. The surge to her stomach rippled downwards and she caught her breath as a familiar sensation made itself felt.

The train decelerated into the next station. Once again the welcoming doors admitted no-one, and the young couple remained within their own bubble of bliss. She could see the man look at her. Not directly, the reflection in the window adulterated by the outside lights. She could even make out what he was looking at: her tits.

Of course he was. All the guys did. Every boy in her school had wanted to touch Becky’s tits. She’d never allowed any of them to. She’d always known what she wanted. This, a stranger, someone she’d never see again. A random act on a random day on a random train. She’d experienced it before. Not many times, but enough to have become addicted.

The man went for it. As the train left the station, his hand left her thigh and went straight for her boobs. It was an awkward angle, but that wasn’t her problem. His fingers grabbed, clasped. Excitement surged through her as this stranger groped her, squeezed her breast hard. She could see him leer in the window. Lecherous sod. Please don’t let him stop now.

He half turned. A finger roamed her cleavage as his other hand touched her leg. She abandoned looking at the window, looking down instead as the stranger’s hand moved as if at random, grabbing what it would. Fingers were sliding up her thigh. She moved a leg, allowing him every opportunity to move the hand further up her leather skirt. Callous hands squeezed breast and thigh in unison, but callous was good. No feelings, other than the wicked sense of transgression as the train slowed on the approach to the next station.

The doors slid open, and while the couple remained in situ, there was movement from outside. Not that this seemed to bother the man. Perhaps, like Becky herself, he decided that a young man in sweatpants and a baseball cap with a tinny drum loop emitting from a pair of oversized headphones wasn’t going to kick up a fuss.

Quite the contrary, he plonked himself down on the seat opposite and stared at where the stranger’s hands were groping Becky. Perhaps he thought they were an item, perhaps not. It didn’t matter in the least. There was a smirk on Headphone Man’s face. He was enjoying what he was seeing, something that became even more apparent when a big bulge appeared in his sweatpants. Becky cast her eye at the window, checking the reflection of the young couple who were still, amazingly, oblivious to what was going on further down the carriage.

The doors slid shut, the train continued on its way. Her body was aching with want, as well as the effect of Drunk Man being none too particular about how hard he squeezed her boobs. Headphone Man was manspreading, the way men do. He was chewing too, on gum presumably. Without shame he moved a hand down and began kneading the bulge in his sweatpants.

The flames of excitement were all-consuming and she couldn’t help but make the kind of sound that could only be interpreted one way. Drunk Man took that as an invitation to push his hand further up her leg, to where stocking met naked thigh. That was as far as he could go unless she lifted her bum for the skirt to be hitched further up. For a second she imagined herself hitching the thing up to her waist and pulling her panties to one side, giving the man opposite a full frontal show, but she restrained herself. Part of the thrill of the game was seeing how far the man, any man would go.

Suddenly Drunk Man leaned forwards, angling his whole body. His arm found a position to continue up her skirt. A finger was playing in her cleavage again, as his other hand swiftly found her knickers. Fingers rubbed against the fabric, which had grown damp and now grew damper still. Opposite, Headphone Man grinned, his fingers squeezing his erection. Spontaneously, Becky let out a moan. How could she possibly not?

The next station was a quiet one, with no activity when the doors slid open. Becky moaned again. With Drunk Man rubbing his fingers against her knickers and squeezing a breast hard, she looked at Headphone Man, or more exactly at his crotch, where he was more or less pleasuring himself through the sweatpants. The sight made her do an instinctive thing, even though it had been her intention to take no initiative herself. As the doors slid shut, her hand went to Drunk Man’s crotch.

The first squeeze was enough to make him remove his hand from her breasts. Still rubbing fingers across dampening panties, he unzipped himself, fingers wriggling inside his trousers before bringing out his hard cock, exposing himself unashamedly to both Becky and Headphone Man opposite. She coiled her fingers round the shaft and her hand began moving.

The relentless ptsh, ptsh, ptsh from the headphones continued as the man opposite leered, still squeezing the bulge in his sweatpants. Then in one swift motion, he pulled them down beneath his balls. Suddenly he was sitting there in front of Becky and Drunk Man, legs splayed, a long, shaft protruding. Nervously, Becky glanced at the window, at the couple further down the carriage. Incredibly they remained ignorant of what was going on. How could they not notice? How was that possible?

Then her gaze returned to Headphone Man, to his shaft. Instinctively her tongue came out, sliding across her lips. The man leered again, aiming his cock straight at her as his hand moved slowly. Her own hand was moving too, wanking Drunk Man, whose fingers were battling with the hem of her panties.

There was movement, Headphone Man moved, swiftly, across the carriage, stumbling slightly as the train gave a mild lurch. Becky checked on the couple, who still had noticed nothing. The man sat down to her left, his knee pumping in time to the tinny beat as he spread his legs.

This was it, the moment of no return. But it wasn’t as if she had a choice, at least that’s how it felt. She reached out her left hand, Headphone Man grinning as if it was no more than he deserved. Here she was, sandwiched between two men on the underground, holding their stiff cocks in her hands. Her previous experiences had been exciting; this was off the chart. She stared at the blurred reflection in the window, her own wanton face, and the lecherous expressions on either side of her.

She firmed her grip on both of them, moving her hands up and down, up and down. Headphone Man turned slightly. Both his hands were suddenly on her breasts, mauling her through her top. She gave a little moan, which he couldn’t hear, but Drunk Man could. Was that what spurred him to find a way to win the battle with her knickers? His finger was inside them all of a sudden, touching her labia. Where she’d oozed before, she now felt a trickle, one that made her determined to follow this through to the end, whatever happened.

Headphone Man was pulling on her top. It was tight, and she was afraid it would rip, but luckily it didn’t. She’d chosen a nice transparent black bra for tonight, but the young man appeared not to appreciate the finer things in life, because as she continued working her hands, he yanked her fleshy tits from the garment, just as the train pulled into the next station.

This time the young couple did move, and finally notice what was going on. The girl gave a snort-cum-giggle, her partner grabbing her bum as they disembarked. How many stations were left? Four? Five? Six? Surely they would be all alone now?

As the doors slid shut, Headphone Man gave Becky’s nipples a tug. They were alone in the carriage, so there was no need to stifle the loud moan. Drunk Man was wriggling his finger, trying to find a way between her labia, where the dam was threatening to burst. As the train began to move, Headphone Man removed his hands from her tits and the headphones from his ears, though the tinny ptsh, ptsh, ptsh continued unabated.

He stood up, facing her, steadying himself with legs wide apart, his cock standing out in front of him. “Here!” he said, beckoning.

She rose, steadying herself against the movement of the train. The man took a step forward, reaching out and grabbing her leather skirt, hoisting it to her waist. He grabbed her buttocks and squeezed, then took hold of his throbbing member, toying with the swollen bulb right on the edge of her hold-ups.

Drunk Man was on his feet, pushing up behind her. She could feel the steel of his rod against her buttocks as his hands came round to fondle her naked breasts. Headphone Man pressed himself against her too, his hands on her hips. She stood there, sandwiched between the two strangers, feeling their urgent desire, her knickers no longer damp but saturated. Becky imagined them both sliding their cocks between her thighs, so that they met in the middle. The thought was so dirty she felt a trickle down the inside of a leg.

She moaned out loud as Drunk Man stepped back to push a hand between her thighs, where he could no doubt discern how her knickers seemed to have come straight from the washing machine. Headphone Man was still pushing up against her from the front. His eyes told her what he wanted from her, just as they told her how little she meant to him, but wasn’t that how she wanted it?

She took charge of the panties herself, Drunk Man removing his hand to let her slide them down and let them fall. Headphone Man immediately took advantage, pushing his cock between her thighs, rubbing the bulb against her labia, pushing in between her labia, rubbing his cock against her clit. Drunk Man pushed himself against her again, his hands groping her tits. Rock hard rods molested her where she stood, sandwiched between the two men.

The train lurched again, and the three stumbled in unison. Then Headphone Man had his finger against her lips. “I bet you know a trick or two,” he said.

His meaning was obvious, and why not? Wasn’t that the game; to see exactly what happened? She pulled away from the two men, sitting down where Headphone Man had sat when he first entered the carriage. The two men were in front of her in a flash, both grabbing handfuls of tit flesh. She leaned forwards, extending her tongue, wriggling it right the way from the root of Headphone Man’s cock to the tip, then repeating the process with Drunk Man. All the while the tinny beat kept on emanating from the headphones. The train slowed and came to a halt.

She hardly cared if anyone entered the train, but since nobody did it didn’t matter. Drunk Man took a further step forward, so that he was right up against her, his cock waving in her face. There was never going to be any other option than to do what was expected of her. The doors slid shut as she slid her lips over the cock. Headphone Man leaned in, one hand still mauling her tits, the other reaching between her thighs.

The train began to move as he began to rub her cunt. She felt the full flood of excitement as she worked him with hand and lips. Drunk Man’s hand went to her head and she switched, letting the other man feed her. She spread her legs as much as she could. Headphone Man took the opportunity to push rough fingers between her labia. She’d self-lubricated so much that it was easy for his fingers to penetrate her. She twisted her head to gasp.

Drunk Man immediately slapped his cock against her face. It was wet with saliva, some of it splashing onto her nose. They were getting rough with her, what with Headphone Man curling his fingers inside of her in time to the beat from his headphones. She put her tongue out to lick the tip of Drunk Man’s cock, pulling Headphone Man’s cock over, so that it was a hair’s breadth from touching Drunk Man’s. Recalling the fantasy of their cocks touching between her thighs, she heard her pussy began to squelch. “Kinky bitch!” Headphone Man said as her tongue began to tease both of their spongy helmets at once.

The train arrived at the next station. She hardly noticed. She was mesmerised by the two stiff rods in front of her and opened her mouth wide. As the doors closed, she managed somehow to fit both of the helmets in her mouth. “Fucking hell!” Headphone Man said, his fingers wrenching at her insides as her secretions stained the seat. Both men were clutching at her breasts with ruthless fingers. The train gave a lurch on its way out of the station, and the men’s cocks came out of her mouth as they steadied themselves.

Drunk Man stumbled the worst, perhaps inevitably. He sat down on the seat to her left looking dazed, his stiff cock bobbing slightly. She grabbed it and leaned over, flicking her tongue against the head. Headphone Man gave her breast a slap. ”Stand up!”

She didn’t need any further instructions to get his drift. Steadying herself against the movement of the train, she rose to her feet, standing in front of Drunk Man and then bending over to drag her tongue along his shaft. Headphone Man was behind her in an instant. He gave her arse a slap, then pulled her buttocks apart. She felt her hole gape for him, longing for the inevitable penetration.

Then he was clutching at her breasts again, digging his fingers into soft flesh as he began pounding her in time to the ptsh, ptsh, ptsh from the headphones. Drunk Man was trying to manoeuvre her head. She helped a little, so that he could pull her down on him.

For a moment Becky fancied she might black out with the excitement, of being at the mercy of two men, sandwiched between them; two strangers who would use her and discard her. She wanted to scream with delight, but had to content herself with moaning heavily on the cock that was buried deep in her mouth. Behind her, Headphone Man was relentless in his use of her cunt, driving his cock forcefully back and forth, as if nothing meant anything to him except satisfying his own brute lust.

Something had to give, and in the event Becky did. It all overwhelmed her, the fact that her tattooed invitation had been taken up, that it had ended like this, with two men using her, taking their pleasure roughly, using her. She felt herself tighten and tighten, and then the climax was there. She almost choked on Drunk Man’s cock as her body seized. Then took a tumble, collapsing onto the seat next to him.

Headphone Man was right in front of her, holding his stiff cock, aiming it at her. He reached out and grabbed a breast. Becky just sat there, still dazed from her climax. There was slowing, another station, but Headphone Man was wanking his cock fast. Becky just stared as Drunk Man took her hand and placed it on his cock, which was still slimy where she’d drooled on it. She moved her hand without even thinking about it, as if it was second nature.

All in a daze she stared at Headphone Man’s hand going at full throttle. The doors to the carriage slid open, then shut. There was movement. Then a spurt. The man had some pump on him. Two full blasts of spunk jetted onto her face. She gasped and blinked. One eye was stinging. The semen slithered slowly down her face as Headphone Man kept on wanking, white seed soiling black stockings.

He stepped back and leered, surveying his handiwork. Drunk Man was on his feet now. “Legs apart!” he said. Was it the first thing he’d said? Becky couldn’t be sure, but she allowed him to step in. His fat, spongy head was between her tits in no time. He mauled her, rubbing her soft flesh against his hard cock. Not for long. “Hold ‘em up for me!”

Returning to her senses, Becky cupped her breasts, allowing the man to spray his load all over her massive assets, as if she was no more than his wank object. Perhaps she was.

Headphone Man already had his sweatpants back up and his ears covered, though the rhythmic ptsh, ptsh, ptsh was as relentless as his cock had been. He leered at her again as the announcement sounded, the speakers informing them that the train was shortly to “terminate”, as if their uninhibited rutting had caused it to incinerate. It took Drunk Man no time at all to stuff his cock back in his trousers. Becky stood, stumbled as the train ran over some points. She had no idea where her knickers had gone, but there was no time to worry about that. She pulled her skirt down and her bra and top up, knowing how dishevelled she looked.

For whatever reason, she’d not thought to bring anything to clean herself off; perhaps she’d never imagined there’d be a need for that. The station toilets would be closed, she thought, in case of druggies. She had no choice but to rub the sperm into her stockings with her hand, then wipe her hands on her top. Then she brought the top up to wipe her face, feeling more sticky and soiled afterwards than she bad before.

The doors to the carriage slid open. Her top was a mess, infused with spunk, and her breasts were still sticky with the stuff. The top could be concealed, though, with the leather jacket that had been laying on the seat all this time. The two men had already departed when she zipped up her jacket, as if she was of no more concern to them than an inflatable doll, which she probably wasn’t.

Outside she discovered that this had been the last train, and that there would be no departures in the opposite direction. Oh well, she could manage.

Outside the station there was a lone taxi, a bored looking man sitting in the driver’s seat. He eyed her suspiciously as she walked up to the car, though because she looked a mess or because of her hard as nails stare, she wasn’t sure.

“I dunno,” he said when she told him where she wanted to go. “It’s a bit out of my way.” As if he had anywhere else to go, as if punters were fighting for rides.

Well, Becky decided, she’d gotten lucky tonight, and maybe her luck would hold. “Please!” she said. “I’ll make it worth your while.” As she spoke, she managed to pull the sleeve of her jacket up, with difficulty, but enough.

“Well,” the driver said. “Since you put it like that.”

He wasn’t looking her in the face, he was staring at the two words tattooed on her arm.

“GROPE ME.”