Kyle has truly begun to dread his commute home from the office. It’s bad enough how long it is; nearly an hour each way when he’s already exhausted from a long day’s work. It’s bad enough that he’s stuffed into an overcrowded, hot, smelly subway car with barely room to breathe, let alone move. But none of this compares to the true reason why he hates the commute: his stalker.
That’s how he thinks of the person; he doesn’t actually know who it is, and he doesn’t even know if they’re stalking him in particular. All he knows is that somehow, no matter how often he switches cars or where he tries to stand, the subway groper always seems to find him.
Kyle’s train home is one of the most crowded in the city; one of the central commuting lines. It’s always full of tired, overworked businessmen just like Kyle, just trying to find a little peace on their way out of downtown. He’d thought nothing about it the first time a hand had brushed against his butt on the train. It’s so crowded that casual touch is entirely unavoidable; if anything, you’re lucky on days when you’re not pressed against your neighbors head to toe on all sides. So it was entirely possible, the first time, the first couple of times even, that it was an accident.
But as the days go by and it keeps happening, Kyle becomes more and more suspicious. His subway rides are haunted by the light brushing touches caressing his ass. In a weird way it’s oddly flattering. He knows he has a round, juicy butt; it’s one of his best features, he admits to himself privately. But it’s still embarrassing to have a stranger fondling it, regardless.
It doesn’t happen every single day; on days where the train is slightly less crowded, there’s no sign of his stalker. Only when it becomes so crammed full that he can’t turn his head to the side to catch a glimpse of anyone behind him does his assailant apparently feel confident enough to reach out and touch. How he always manages to be right next to Kyle on days when the subway car is so full, Kyle had no idea. But it’s remarkably reliable; like clockwork.
Kyle wishes he had a car, or could afford enough to take a taxi on days when the subway is truly packed. But it’s tough to make last-minute arrangements anyway; usually by the time he realizes the train is full enough to put him at risk, he’s already in the process of getting on, swept up into the river of people pushing further, relentlessly, into the already crowded transport.
The groping starts almost as soon as the subway starts moving now, and it has progressed a bit since the initial days of just light touches. Kyle is pretty sure his fondler is a man; he’s become used to the feeling of meaty fingers grabbing his buttocks, squeezing the cheeks, trailing a thick digit up the clothed crack in his behind. And the past few months it’s become even worse; his tormentor has gotten bolder.
He still remembers vividly the first time his stalker had brazenly slid a hand down the back of his business slacks, slipping into his underwear to feel him up skin to skin. As usual, he had tried to turn, tried to free an arm enough in the crowd to stop this stranger, but had found himself unable to move within the press of bodies.
Unresisted, the hand had slid down along his crack, strangely cool and almost damp. Kyle had only realized the man must have somehow lubed up his fingers when the first one began to penetrate him, slipping deftly up into his anus. He had cried out in shock and alarm, but the sound was drowned out in the murmur of the crowd and the loud clacking of the subway train on its tracks. He’d had no choice but to stand there and endure it as the man behind him casually fingered him for over half an hour, slipping a second and eventually third finger up inside him and teasingly thrusting them in and out. The sensation was accompanied by hot, warm breath against his ear, heavy with lustful breathing.
This has, unfortunately, become the norm now. After that first time, his stalker’s boldness has never relented. Every time the subway car is packed full to bursting, Kyle can expect to feel that dreaded hand slide down his pants, the fingers working their way with long practice up inside him, like they belong there. On crowded days it’s become routine that the stranger will finger him all the way home, or nearly so, breath a damp caress on the skin of his neck. All he can do is pray that the train empties quickly; once the crowds thin enough his tormentor will reliably disappear, blending into the crowd to avoid being recognized.
He has some hope that today might be a reprieve. As he eyes the train pulling into the subway station, it does seem to be a relatively lighter press than usual. He breathes a sigh of relief and makes his way onto the last car, standing near the very back wall. It’s still too crowded for him to find anywhere to sit, but at least he has a foot or so of space around him on all sides.
This optimism, however, is unfortunately short-lived. At the next stop, a titanic crowd, the likes of which Kyle has never seen before, begins to board the subway. The train fills and fills and keeps on filling, and Kyle finds himself forced further and further into the car, crowded more and more intensely, until he is squashed against the rear wall of the train like a bug swatted on a window.
As usual, mere moments after the train begins to wend its way into the darkened subway tunnels, Kyle feels the familiar touch begin. He grits his teeth as a heavy, masculine hand covers one buttock and squeezes, palpitating and massaging his ass like kneading dough. He feels the firm, muscular body of his assailant pressed flush against his back. He tries to catch a glimpse of the person’s reflection in the dim glass of the train car windows, but the man is standing so perfectly behind him that Kyle eclipses him entirely. He can do nothing but stand still as the stranger paws and gropes at his ass.
Then, moments later, the familiar sensation of a hand sneaking its way under his waistband and descending. Kyle squeezes his eyes shut as a slick finger enters him, poking in and sliding inside until it is buried all the way to the last knuckle. A few initial, tentative thrusts before it is drawn out again just far enough to allow a second digit to slip in beside it. The stalker is wasting no time today; within a minute of beginning he has three fingers pushed deep inside Kyle’s ass and is working them in and out of him in a determined rhythm. Kyle can feel his face burning red with shame; he can’t even make eye contact with himself in his own reflection. He considers calling out, screaming to the people around him for help—but what good would it do? Would anyone even be able to move enough to save him? Or would the end result just be a train car full of people now aware that he was being molested, watching it happen?
The fingers feel unusually aggressive tonight. They pound him thoroughly, or at least, as much as they can without significant leverage; the man behind him, too, must deal with the press of the crowd. Kyle bites his lip. He wants it to end soon, but past experience has taught him not to hold his breath. There’s still a long way to go before the crowd thins out enough to give him a reprieve. They’ve just hit the edge of the river; it’s around twenty minutes until there’s even another stop.
Miraculously, however, he does feel the fingers begin to withdraw. Kyle opens his eyes in surprise, trying and once again failing to twist his head around to see what’s happening behind him. Is someone watching? Is the man afraid of being caught? For just a second, Kyle feels a burgeoning sense of hope.
This short-lived sensation comes crashing down, however, as he feels the fingers’ new task; pulling down the waistband of his pants and underwear. A hand slides around him and unbuckles his belt, unslips the button on the front of his slacks. The cloth is tugged in short, forceful bursts, loosened just enough to slip down over his ample buttocks, leaving them exposed to open air.
Then, pressure behind him. The body flush against his back pushes somehow impossibly closer. He feels an unmistakable bulge come to rest nestled firmly between his buttocks.
He can feel the shape of the dick waiting at his entrance. It is thick and impossibly smooth with the strain of its engorgement. It feels enormous. It’s also well-lubed; slick. It slides effortlessly along the crack of his ass and, with just a little guidance from the familiar hand, begins to press inside him, pushing into the hole that was prepared for it.
Kyle cries out; he can’t help it. If anyone hears him, there’s no indication. He is forced hard against the rear wall of the subway car as a stranger’s cock sinks inexorably deeper and deeper into him, penetrating him amidst the unconcerned crowd. He swallows around a lump in his throat as he’s spread wide open; the phallus feels even bigger as it cleaves him apart.
Once again he feels the man lean in behind his shoulder, feels hot, wet breath against his neck and ear. This time, however, it’s accompanied by a low and masculine moan as the man enters him, burying himself deep inside.
“Please, no,” Kyle whimpers. He’s not sure whether the man can’t hear him or just chooses to ignore his pleas, because moments later he begins thrusting, hard and fast, into Kyle’s rear end.
Kyle’s not sure how the stranger avoids notice; the rhythm of his hips must be unmistakable as he relentlessly plunders Kyle’s ass. But his enthusiasm excites no obvious comment from anyone else. He continues to molest Kyle without interference, fucking him on and on and on, his cock pistoning in and out of Kyle’s hole like a power tool determined to nail him to the rear wall of the subway.
Kyle has never been fucked like this before. He’s never even had an adventurous girlfriend; his ass had been completely untouched until the first time the stalker had fingered him. The sensation of fullness, of being cleaved in two, is strange and overwhelming. Time ticks by as he completely fails to become used to the sensation; it continues to be just as invasive and obscene as when it began.
The tormenting thrusts continue unabated for some ten minutes or so until finally the stranger forces himself in as deep as he can go and Kyle feels his balls twitch, emptying pulse after pulse of hot cum deep into his rectum.
Silent tears are running down Kyle’s face; he feels humiliated, unclean. His only consolation is that at least it’s over now.
But it seems his assailant has other ideas. As the man’s cock softens enough to slide out of him, it is quickly replaced once again by his fingers. They make an obscene wet squelch now in the mix of lube and cum inside him; Kyle can feel it more than actually hear it. They tease playfully at his distended asshole, making themselves filthy with the evidence of his deflowering.
Then, without warning, the fingers slip out of him again. A second later he feels an arm reach up, coming around him, encircling him, and the fingers are stuck casually into his mouth.
Kyle coughs and sputters at the bitter, acrid taste as the fingers wipe themselves off on his tongue, forcing him to taste his shame and the stranger’s cum. He tries instinctively to back away from the assailing digits, but only succeeds in grinding himself back against the stranger behind him. The fingers thrust in and out of Kyle’s mouth a few times and then, just as Kyle gets together enough presence of mind to consider biting them, withdraw once more. The arm returns to its place behind him, and Kyle feels the fingers slide back home up his ass and hears the breathy contented sigh of the man behind him as a light waft against his ear.
Kyle tries again to struggle, but it is useless. The man has him completely pinned. Any movement only serves to force the fingers deeper into him. Eventually he gives up and just lets them play with him, alternating between thrusting, exploring, and stretching apart to widen his hole.
At the next stop, the fingers finally disappear once more. Kyle hopes in vain that the crowd will vanish, empty into the subway stop, but he knows this is futile; this stop is just as busy as the previous one. Anyone that exits the train is quickly replaced by at least two people trying to take their spot. As they begin to pull away from the station, he sees people left behind on the platform, forced to wait for the next car rather than try to impossibly force their way into the sheer press of bodies.
The disappearance of the fingers does not bode well for Kyle. Having spent the last ten minutes or so fingering him, the man is apparently rested enough to be turned on again. Kyle squirms and tries to wiggle his hips away as the large pressure returns once again between his buttocks. But despite these attempts, he feels the cock begin to open him up once more as it slides ruthlessly back into him.
The thrusts are much slower this time. After entering, the man leaves himself buried deep for a few moments before even starting to move at all, apparently savoring the clench of Kyle’s walls around his member. He hears the man’s grunt of satisfaction as a vibration up the side of his neck. When he does start to move the motions are slow and deliberate, barely more forceful than the rocking of the train.
To Kyle’s horror, he feels one of the stranger’s arms slip around him, coming around front to delve into his open fly. The hand, slick and wrinkled from fingering him for so long, takes Kyle’s own cock in in its palm and begins to pump it with a steady insistence.
Kyle doesn’t want to get hard. The last thing he wants is to feel any kind of pleasure associated with this heinous, humiliating act. But the touch is unrelenting; if not skillful then at least determined. It coaxes him to hardness until shame suffuses him and he finds his own cock throbbing with need in time to the slow, leisurely thrusts behind him.
The darkness of the subway tunnels envelops them once more, the dim lighting of the subway’s interior hiding the debauchery going on at its rear. Kyle chokes and grimaces as the molester continues to fuck him on and on, cock gliding in and out of his well-used hole with little resistance. “Please,” Kyle begs, desperate for some kind of relief, but the sound is quickly lost, swept away in the train’s wake.
The relentless rhythm of the penetration continues for long minutes, through multiple stops, until Kyle realizes they are approaching his own. There’s only one more stop between him and needing to get off this damn train. In fact, the next stop is the first one where he can generally guarantee the crowd will begin to thin.
As if aware of this constraint, the dick inside him gives a few last thrusts, plunging deep, deep into him until Kyle imagines he can feel it in the back of his throat when he swallows, and the man comes inside him a second time. Kyle can feel the hot stream of liquid filling him up, staining his insides.
The hand around Kyle’s own cock becomes insistent, determined, squeezing him and pulling him and not letting up until Kyle comes helplessly himself, feeling the spasms of his climax squeeze his rectal muscles around the cock still buried inside him, wringing out a last few spurts of jizz from it.
Loose and helpless from his orgasm, it’s all Kyle can do to slump against the rear wall of the train as the man slides his satisfied cock out of Kyle’s abused and exhausted hole. He feels movement behind him as the subway begins to slow, as the crowd prepares to make their exit. There is a hiss and a muffled announcement of the train’s arrival, and the doors slide open. The crowd around him is suddenly in full motion and flowing away from him like water.
Unable to hold himself up without the press of bodies against him, Kyle slumps halfway down the subway wall as the crowd, presumably containing his assailant, files out into the station, leaving the car substantially less full.
As the doors slide shut behind the departing travelers, Kyle completely fails to consider the picture he must make: slumped lewdly against the back of the train, pants hiked down under his buttocks, cum even now starting to ooze from his well-fucked hole on full display. The only thought that occupies his mind is the despair of contemplating his fate; in front of him stretches a future where this obscene misery is visited upon him every time he rides the train home, again and again and again, with no end in sight.