This choice: Liz’s clothes have been stolen so she has to ride the train in her split pants • Go Back...Chapter #4Liz’s clothes have been stolen so she has to ... by: pixie   Liz walked over to her locker, but stopped to stare at the line of lockers in confusion. She glanced up and down the shoulders-tall wall of lockers, wondering if she'd forgotten the number of the locker she had put her street clothes into. There were no locks hanging on any of them. She strode up and down the aisle, looking into the other lines of lockers just in case she'd made a mistake, but ultimately she had to conclude she was right the first time. The locker she had chosen to store her things in was now unlocked, and the door was slightly ajar, showing its empty interior.
"FUCK!" Liz shouted. "Who the fuck stole my clothes?" She looked around the deserted locker room just in case the culprit happened to be crouching nearby or watching her reaction to this violation of her property. There was no one to be seen, and she couldn't hear anyone else in the room; not even in the shower area. She stalked around the locker room for a few more minutes before arriving at the awful, inevitable conclusion she'd reached when she realized her clothes were gone: she'd been robbed and now she was looking at a long train ride back to her apartment complex in the outfit she was wearing right now.
The outfit that now included an ass-sized window among its body-displaying features, thanks to her son Matty's scissor-work. Oh, that kid is gonna wish he'd never been born, she thought, grinding her teeth.
At least she still had her phone, so she could pay for train fare using the transit app on it, and she had a spare key hidden under the doormat in case of emergencies so she could still get inside her home once she got there. But there was about twenty minutes of riding a train and ten minutes of walking after that between the gym and her apartment.
With a deep breath, Liz strode back out into the gym. She walked as if nothing was wrong, pointedly refusing to look at any of the guys who were checking out her ass and snapping pictures with their phones to share with God knows who on the internet, and the women who laughed, commented to each other about the flabbiness of her ass cheeks that jiggled with each step, or silently approved of her punishment for her earlier inconsiderate behavior in the eyes of the cosmos. She pushed open the glass front doors of the gym and strode down the sidewalk. She was downtown, so there was no shortage of witnesses on the street to see her pale freckled buttocks flexing and bouncing as they hung out of her lime green yoga pants. The sunlight only highlighted the spectacle, making her pale skin incandescent in the midday light, almost blinding to passersby. By the time she reached the train depot, she had already heard over a dozen wolf whistles, lewd comments, and a depressingly unoriginal variety of "hey, baby"s directed her way. Despite her personal determination to ignore all of the attention turned toward her - especially toward her bared bottom, but by extension all of the lurid and raunchy comments and invitations directed toward her curvy, spandex-clad mother-of-one body - her face hadn't stopped burning bright pink since she'd left the gym locker room. This entire walk had been an embarrassing gauntlet of public exposure, and while she kept reassuring herself that she wasn't showing off anything more than the average bikini might, the context of her exposure as the result of a wardrobe malfunction reinforced her internal sense of shame about her unwilling display.
She looked up and down the tracks that marked the center of the street but saw no sign of an approaching train. There were plenty of people standing around, though - mostly young professionals in her age range taking a lunch break or in mid-commute to a meeting somewhere else downtown. On a normal day, she disliked these people. They were power-brokers and sycophants, people who traded a healthy life for starchy suits, deal-making, and power-walking past other people on the sidewalk as they marched off to yet another Top Priority meeting with some corporate asshole who got paid more money to call for those meetings. Liz didn't have the time of day for them when things were ideal. Right now, she openly despised them, but she also felt a twinge of envy for those women who at least had a skirt or trousers that offered their skinny asses some coverage.
Liz looked around for a spare spot on the bench to sit, so she could at least hide her bottom for a few minutes while waiting. Of course the bench was full of people, none of whom seemed inclined to get up and offer her a seat (but more than a few who felt welcome to glance at her freckled ass cheeks and smirk or stare). Eventually she had to settle for leaning back against a large advertising kiosk, letting the ad conceal her fleshy derrière as she pressed up against its cool plastic surface. Her buttocks squeaked out loud against the plastic every time she shifted the weight on her feet, drawing the commuters' attention back to the presence of her partial nudity. Liz's ears felt like they were on fire and she knew that her blushing was visible all the way down the freckled valley between her breasts. She tugged up at the low-cut collar of her sports bra, wishing she'd decided to wear her hoodie today. The tugging on the taut fabric only made her breasts bounce in place, and the slight friction of the interior padding stimulated her nipples enough that they began to harden, forming visible bumps through the green-and-black bra. She sighed in frustration and shook her head, crossing her arms to conceal her increasingly obvious nips.
After what felt like an eternity the train came up the street, gliding to a halt in front of the depot platform. Liz waited for the large crowd of business-suited professionals to disembark so that she could get aboard and find a seat, but there had already been a large crowd gathered at the depot when she arrived, and the best she could do was to secure for herself a single occupancy standing next to the door as it slid closed. She gripped the aluminum pole with one hand to keep her balance while the train started moving again, and kept her other hand over her butt in a vain effort to preserve some amount of her modesty.
"Nice ass," she heard a man say behind her shoulder. He was close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on her ear and neck, and could smell his heavily-applied cologne. She growled under her breath, looking up at the window in front of her to see the man's reflection behind her. He was a tall brunette, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, with his hair slicked back and wearing a tastefully conservative suit. Great, she thought, mister fuckin' American Psycho himself here to harass me. Just what I needed.
The train left the street and the rails curved hard to the left, leading the train into a tunnel beneath the freeway. The sudden lurch of the train forced everyone to lean forward, and Liz felt American Psycho press up against her from behind. She realized after a second that even after everyone around her recovered from the lean, his chest was still pressed up against her back. "Don't worry," he said, just loud enough for her to hear him, "I'll make sure no one can see."
She felt her indignation rising and was about to snap back at him when she suddenly felt the presence of fingertips gliding down her buttocks, tracing along the seam of her thong panties to plunge down between them. Liz went rigid, standing up on her tiptoes as she was violated by a stranger on the train. Immediately her thoughts turned to all of those manga she read when she was younger that featured some scene on a train where an Office Lady or schoolgirl was groped under her skirt by a stranger. While she was no stranger to sexual harassment in public places, the whole trope seemed like such a cultural artifact specific to Japan that she'd just assumed it would never fly in America. And yet, here she was, getting her ass groped by some junior executive on the midday train. She was so shocked that she didn't say or do anything, even as she felt his fingers pry underneath the globes of her ass cheeks and find the crotch of her thong panties where the fabric pulled tight over her plump pussy lips.
He pulled the fabric to the side, and as Liz's face burned hot with embarrassment and outrage, she felt his finger dip into her. She gasped, feeling her hard nipples firming up against her sports bra, and her calves rigid as she remained on tiptoe. She shocked herself even further by saying and doing nothing, just letting it happen. It wasn't that she had frozen up out of fear or was having a trauma reaction - that was something she'd read about and knew was something that happened to people. No, in her case, deep down, she knew she wasn't trying to stop him from exploring her by her own choice.
The embarrassing walk from the gym to the train had affected her. Something about that forced exhibition had triggered deeply hidden feelings, so by the time she got aboard the train the crotch of her thong panties were sopping wet. And now this stranger's finger had found her well-lubricated and ready for his toying. Liz wasn't about to credit this narcissist for anything but he was skillfully finding her most sensitive intimate places, giving her a gradually building erotic pleasure that was being multiplied exponentially by the fact that he was doing it to her on a moving train full of people. She bent over slightly, pushing her bare ass out toward him as she clung to the pole with both hands. He slipped another finger into her dripping wet pussy and thrust into her, filling her, exploring her, stimulating her. She bit her lower lip.
The train exited the tunnel and his fingers were still inside her as daylight shone on them both. She felt waves of pleasure intensifying, overwhelming her mind. She spread her thighs for him and quivered around his fingers. She was about to cum right then and there.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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