I was wondering if you could write a scenario of getting fucked in a subway? Like, it's so crowded there's nowhere to move or escape, so a guy behind me takes advantage of it and fucks me. No one notices, and I can't make a sound to not get caught, and then he finishes inside and leaves. The idea of getting fucked and creampied by a complete stranger and then having to continue on with my day is such a turn on.
The subway car is packed, a hot, sweaty cage of bodies. You are pressed against a pole, your knuckles white as you hold on. You feel him behind you first as a solid wall of heat, his chest against your back. You think it's just the crowd, until his hands settle on your hips. His grip is firm, possessive. He grinds against you, a slow, deliberate roll of his hips hidden within the train's sway. Your breath catches. You can feel the hard line of his cock through your clothes. You try to lean forward, but there's nowhere to go.
His hands are big and rough, and they start at your waist, holding you steady against the lurch of the train. At first, it feels almost polite, like heās just bracing himself. But then his fingers dig in a little deeper, his thumbs stroking your hips through the fabric of your dress. He lets one hand slide down, palming your ass with a firm, possessive squeeze. You can feel the heat of his hand through your skirt. He does it again, a little harder this time, and you flinch, but thereās nowhere to escape. His other hand moves up your side, his fingers splaying over your ribs before his palm cups your breast. He gropes you over your bra, his fingers finding your nipple and pinching it through the lace. A sharp, unwelcome jolt of pleasure makes you gasp, and you hear him chuckle softly against your ear. He keeps kneading your breast, his grip firm and deliberate, letting you know heās just getting started.
You try to push his hand away, but your own movements are weak and trapped by the press of bodies. You shake your head, a silent plea for him to stop, but he just holds you tighter. His fingers work your nipple until it's a hard, aching peak, the pleasure so intense it makes your knees weak.
You hate how good it feels, how your body is responding to his rough touch. His other hand slides from your ass to the front of your panties, his fingers rubbing you through the damp fabric. You bite your lip to keep from moaning, the shame burning your cheeks. You know you should scream, should draw attention, but the fear of causing a scene and having everyone see you like this keeps you frozen.
He feels how wet you are and lets out a low, approving hum in your ear. His fingers push past the elastic, finding your bare clit. You jolt as he circles it, the touch direct and knowing. Youāre so sensitive, and despite every thought screaming no, your hips give a tiny, traitorous rock against his hand. He laughs softly, his breath hot on your neck, and you want to die from the humiliation of your own bodyās betrayal.
His fingers slide lower, dipping into your wetness. You clench around nothing, a pathetic attempt to stop him, but he just pushes one thick finger inside you. The stretch is immediate and shocking. You press your forehead against the cold pole, a tear of shame and unwanted pleasure tracking down your cheek.
He works his finger in and out of you, a slow, maddening rhythm that matches the sway of the train. You can hear the wet sounds his hand makes against your body, and you pray no one else can. He adds a second finger, stretching you wider, and your breath hitches. Y
our pussy clenches around him, greedy for more, and you hate yourself for it. He curls his fingers, rubbing that spot deep inside that makes your vision go white at the edges. A soft, choked sob escapes you. Youāre so close to coming from just his fingers, from this public, humiliating groping, and the knowledge that youāre about to fall apart in front of all these strangers is almost as terrifying as how much you want it.
He removes his fingers, leaving you empty and throbbing. You feel the blunt, hot head of his cock press against your slick entrance. He doesnāt ask; he just pushes. The stretch is so much more than his fingers, a burning, full feeling that steals the air from your lungs. You feel every inch as he sinks into you, filling you completely.
He sets a punishing rhythm from the start, his hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The trainās movement rocks you both, driving him deeper. You have to bite down on your own arm to muffle the moans that threaten to escape. Your body is a traitor, meeting each thrust with a desperate clench, welcoming the invasion.
His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he uses you. You can feel the sweat on his skin, hear his ragged breaths in your ear. He fucks you like he owns you, like your body is his to use right here in this crowded car. The shame is a hot wave washing over you, but it only makes the pleasure sharper, more intense.
Your climax builds quickly, a tight coil in your belly that you canāt fight. It crashes over you as he pounds into your deepest spot, a silent, shuddering orgasm that makes your legs buckle. He holds you up, his thrusts becoming erratic and harder. With a final, deep grind, he buries himself to the hilt. You feel the hot, pulsing release flood you, filling you up. He stays there for a long moment, panting against your neck, before pulling out and leaving you dripping and used.
You are left leaning against the pole, your legs trembling, pulling your damp panties up as his cum and your own juices starts to leak down your thighs. The train moves on, and you have to move with it, carrying the shameful, thrilling secret inside you all day.
