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She knew it was him.
Knowing made it just that bit easier to deal with. Knowing, at least, gave Winnie a semblance of control, allowing her to feel secure in the fact that her top-notch barrier net really did work to fend off opportunistic fumblings and squeezings from random arseholes while she was on the way to or from the lecture hall.
It was a small, small comfort, but one that Winnie clung to. It wasn’t as if he, Darren Maximilian von Trez, didn’t have anyone better to cop a feel from while he was slumming on the train. It was probably the sort of thing high-index telekinetics did, just to prove they could.
She’d felt the rush too, before, the base satisfaction of cracking an opponent’s barrier like an egg, or slipping a tendril of power in beneath it as if it weren’t even there. True, her usual victories were more likely to come from mind games and delicate tweaks of her target’s perception, but the rush she felt when those sneaky tricks worked was still the same, still horribly addicting.
I’m not this bad yet, at least, she thought, wryly, feeling the invisible grip that had been tugging on the hem of her skirt switch to the suggestion of something indistinct sliding up the inside of her left leg. She got by through dabbling in the weekly informal tournament run by the college, and by giving her younger cousins the occasional educational beating.
Clearly, that kind of activity was not enough for Darren von Trez. Every other week, he got on two stops after hers, his dark eyes sweeping over the nervous inhabitants of the train car as if he were looking at so much trash. Then, midway through the journey, a small but noticeable current of reaction would go through the car, centring primarily on those few whose weight on the psychic web rivalled or outstripped hers.
The very first time, Winnie had thought there might be a virus going round. One of those stupid undying pranks people let loose for kicks, viruses and worms that changed protocols and attack vectors often enough that even a decent firewall couldn’t always keep them out. That whatever it was had felt like a wash of ice-cold air rubbing down over her breasts despite her thick coat and sweater and bra only solidified that guess.
Then, a month or so later, she’d seen von Trez bail off five stops before the one nearest their college, only to feel the ghostly hand squeezing her upper thigh fade with his departure. Even then, she’d marvelled to herself at just what rich people would do for entertainment these days. It wasn’t until the next time, when she cribbed from a hot new enclosing technique only to feel the pinprick of a standard, college-taught intrusion, that she’d realized von Trez was the type to get hands-on.
“Serelle,” the train’s loudspeaker droned. “Serelle, Museum of Liberation, this stop. Next stop, Auburn. Doors opening on the right.” By now, the indistinct something winding up Winnie’s left leg had solidified, gaining scales and a slick, clammy warmth. She knew pressing her thighs together wouldn’t stop the sensation, but she couldn’t help but do so as the snakelike thing slithered past her knee. Keep it together, she told herself. Just two more stops.
Von Trez, as always, was on the opposite end of the train car, staring haughtily out of the window. Today, his usual hangers-on were a marked two or three steps away from him, each of them maintaining a bubble of free space around themselves through naked, showy strength, their power lending strange, sickly colours to the stuffy air around them. Greenish undertones for all, since they were one and all sworn to his family’s banner, and green was in their crest.
His personal space was wider, a full arm’s length instead of half, and the two businessmen squeezed into the neighbouring seats looked as if they regretted the decision to sit there. Neither of them felt strong enough that they’d be undergoing the same… inconvenience she was, but that also meant that the silvery green shimmer in the air around him was likely felt by them as choking, terrifying pressure instead of the faint, persistent discomfort she could feel even from over here.
“Auburn,” the loudspeaker said, the train beginning to rattle over the familiar rough spot. “Doors opening on the left. Next stop, Tresore.”
One more, Winnie thought. The snake felt like cloth now, expanding relentlessly, forcing all the way up between her thighs. She didn’t know how she kept from flinching at the sensation, the sudden sense that someone was dragging her skirt up and up and up, the cloth rubbing against her skin.
It had happened before, just much more lightly. Then, she’d been unable to keep from glancing down to check whether it was actually happening, only to see that her neat knee-length skirt hadn’t shifted an inch.
This time, Winnie forced herself to hold out, ignoring the slow, teasing slide of the imaginary cloth being pulled back and forth, diminishing from its original thickness until it felt like a thick, silken rope. It dug in, of course, nestling between her pussy lips, stimulating the side of her clit as it slid.
“Tresore,” the loudspeaker said, barely audible over the squeal of the track, the rattling of the carriage around them. “Tresore, College of the High Arts, Market Theatre and the Bureau of Inventions, this stop. Doors opening—”
Winnie was already moving, ignoring the rope, ignoring everything but the objective of squeezing her way towards the carriage doors on the left-hand side. She, of course, could not flare her aura about her to force others to give way; such theatrics only led to arguments and delay for someone of her modest status. She merely pushed and wriggled past, the occasional half-meant apology falling from her lips.
Something caught on the side of her backpack, wrenching her to a halt. “Sorry,” Winnie murmured automatically, twisting to the side. A careful reach back ended in her knocking her hand against an older woman’s hip, and then against the cool surface of a train pole. “Sorry, I—”
“Doors closing.”
Oh, come on, Winnie snarled to herself, turning as much as she could in the press of departing and boarding passengers surrounding her. This is not what I fucking need right now. Her bag—
“Doors closing.”
Her bag wasn’t caught on anything.
Cursing under her breath, Winnie tried to press forward, only to feel the rope slither up to wrap around her waist. Which wouldn’t have been anything other than an annoyance if the phantom sensation had remained just that. Now, there was real force in the way it squeezed, in the way it was holding her back.
“Doors closing,” the loudspeaker reminded her, even as she saw the nearest doors hiss shut. “Next stop, Shiwa.”
This… is this happening?
A sudden, forceful pinch of her clit assured her it was. The phantom rope’s constricting grasp on her waist did not let up. Despite herself, despite every instinct and every pulse of repressed rage screaming at her to not react, not give her assaulter an inch of acknowledgement, Winnie could feel her breaths speeding up.
The train jolted back into motion. A finger traced a slow, teasing line over her pussy lips, the touch ignoring the slightly damp cloth of her panties. She stood there, captive, infuriated, and deeply afraid. The finger dipped inside her cunt, cool as you please, sliding all the way in, unshaken by the rattling motion of the train as it took a sharp curve.
What do I do? Winnie thought. Why is he—why now?
She could feel the chill of his aura coming closer. She didn’t dare turn to look, afraid that even a covert glance would encourage him further or worse, piss him off. Anyone that could finger you through a quadruple-layered Kai-Lintz barrier and make it feel this real could do much, much worse.
“Shiwa,” the loudspeaker said, right as she felt a hand close around her left wrist. “Shiwa, Bureau of—”
“Turn around,” someone said, from her left. Von Trez. “Take hold of the pole; the ride’s quite rough, beyond this stop.”
At least I won’t have to look at him, Winnie thought, suppressing a shiver. She turned, edging towards the nearest pole, only to see von Trez step up and position himself directly opposite her, a faint, almost gentle smile on his face.
“Go on,” he murmured, when she froze. She didn’t know how she managed to move after that, how she ended up curling a trembling hand around the pole between them. “My cousin, you know. The delicate sort.”
“Poor dear,” an older woman said, from somewhere to Winnie’s left. “You’re not travelling far, I hope?”
“Oh no,” von Trez said, his hand closing firmly over Winnie’s on the pole. “Only a handful more stops.”
All the while, his finger was inside her, twisting slowly back and forth, tracing her inner folds. His aura enveloped hers, a heady pressure she could feel on her barriers, on her prickling skin.
The train shuddered to a stop. More people surged into the carriage, pressing her forward until the pole was merely a symbolic, off-centre divider between her and von Trez. He smiled down at her—not so far down as her terrified mind seemed to feel it should be—and, in the next moment, the new message light in upper left of her HUD started blinking.
Winnie stared at the light for a moment, something like a hysterical giggle trying to bubble up in her throat. The light was orange. High priority, probably a message from the university about the cancellation or rescheduling of some damn event she wasn’t even planning on attending. The light would go on blinking, desperate for her attention, while von Trez raped her.
“Do you not see my friend request?” von Trez said, his smile diminishing, his gaze slightly furrowed in what looked like genuine confusion. “Open it.”
There was an unseen force beneath those two words, one that drove Winnie to focus and dutifully open her message panel instinctively. Her hand tightened around the pole beneath his. The finger that had been inside her for the last few minutes was gone.
He really had sent her a friend request. Winnie swallowed, caught between hysteria and utter bewilderment, and pushed mentally at her interface so the action button changed to ‘accept’.
She could still feel von Trez’s aura all around her. Not accepting would probably be an interesting way to end up ravaged and aching with the remnants of the memories he’d taken from her on his way out.
<You are now connected with VONT.>
Another hysterical giggle began to form in her chest, only to die a silent death when von Trez’s smile widened enough that his eyes thinned and crinkled at the corners.
‘Hey!!’ his first message to her read. ‘Wanna have sex?!’
He licked his lips as he sent it. There was something utterly profane about that action, even though it was quick, brief, and not at all exaggerated. Maybe it was because he was this close. Maybe it was because she could still feel the frigid weight of his aura pressing down on her.
Maybe it was because she felt a telltale brush between her upper thighs, like and not like the shifting of cloth, as if someone had ghosted a feather over her skin there.
So he’s that kind of sicko, Winnie told herself. Please let it just end here.
Their chat window refreshed.
> VONT: we can’t do it all here, but we can do a little?
> VONT: we can go another, proper round later.
> VONT: okay?
Winnie took in a bolstering breath. “Okay,” she said, out loud, her voice as quiet as she could make it. Even though she knew it would be no different saying that same thing to him in chat, she still felt a jolt of revulsion at the very idea of doing so. “Can you keep it quick?” she risked adding. “I have a presentation in class in an hour.”
That’s right, she thought, as she glanced up at him. People will question my absence. Rape me but leave me alive.
Hopefully all he wanted was the sick thrill of fucking an unwilling victim in broad daylight where everyone could potentially notice. If he tried to get her off this train—
> VONT: I’ll keep it quick :)
Suddenly her cunt was full to bursting, crammed with what Winnie thought to be fingers until she realized they were moving too fluidly and strangely for that. Tentacles, she thought, half hysterically, and then she wasn’t thinking because von Trez had let go his grip on her and moved his large, hot hand down the inside of her arm until he was cupping her left breast.
Distantly, Winnie noticed the sympathetic older woman to the left gawking at them for a moment, then turning her judgemental gaze away with a muffled harrumph. Tears of embarrassment brimmed in Winnie’s eyes without her say-so. She blinked them away, hard.
Von Trez was squeezing her. His avid gaze had lowered to her breasts, and though they were standing fairly closely, Winnie was all too aware that it would be horribly obvious what he was doing to her if anyone around them was watching.
Tears stung her eyes again and were firmly blinked back. His hand felt really warm even through her thick flannel shirt. Suddenly she wished she’d worn a sweater, even though she hated them, because at least that would be another barrier, another layer between her prickling skin and his invasive touch.
Then again, he could just be augmenting his touch, channelling extra impressions to her to lend each simple, gentle squeeze more meaning.
It felt good. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough to hurt, just rubbing, weighing, caressing.
> VONT: can I kiss you?
Now, Winnie didn’t want to say anything out loud. She didn’t want to say anything at all, but she had to.
> Winwin: yes
Von Trez’s smile curled at the edges. Fuck, how smug it made him look. The tentacles faded just like that, their imaginary, very nearly uncomfortable pressure disappearing so abruptly that Winnie felt weak in the knees, swaying a little on her feet despite herself.
Von Trez bent towards her, his other arm snaking around her waist. Something about the casual, confident way he did that made Winnie want to scream. But the pressure of his aura was even worse now, a hammer she felt all over, a presence that forced away the curious gazes of everyone still brave enough to be eyeing them.
He probably could fuck me here, Winnie couldn’t help but think, with numb sort of horror. If he didn’t want anyone to watch, no one would dare.
And then his mouth was on hers, his lips warm and dry, his tongue wet and horribly insistent. He knew what he was doing. He tasted her, nipping gently at her bottom lip, teasing her tongue with his, and to Winnie’s quiet horror, she felt herself clench inside in response.
> VONT: not bad, right?
Winnie didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. The tentacles were back, but they weren’t just sliding deep into her cunt, they were creeping stickily under her shirt and pinching her nipples until they stung, and there was one in her mind, slurping up her trepidation, rubbing up against the inside of her mental barrier with a smug, lazy roll of its hefty body.
Not real, Winnie told herself, but it felt real, it was inside her, it was his tongue and she liked it, that was the worst of it.
You feel so good, she felt/heard the tentacle say, and she realized she was whimpering out loud despite herself. Ssh. Relax.
But she couldn’t. He was supposed to rape her but this wasn’t included, wasn’t allowed, he was TOO BIG and INVADER and WRONG and even though part of her tried to hold on to her automatic defences until they stopped freaking out, they were too small and she couldn’t keep all of them in her hands.
They bit at von Trez with poison in minuscule spikes in a myriad tiny hungry maws, and all he did was shudder with pleasure, licking deeper into her mouth. Every shred of thought her attacks tore off of the massive spur he had hooked into her mind was about how he thought her breasts were the perfect size.
KILL, her stupid, reckless subconscious snarled, and the bloody response that dripped into her hungry mouths was that hurts so right, over and over and over again.
When Winnie finally could think in straight lines again, she realized she could taste blood in her mouth. And then realized that she was sitting in von Trez’s lap, ensconced in his arms, one of which was circling her waist and applying just enough pressure to keep her ass firmly atop his massive erection.
“Hey,” von Trez said, his voice low and amused, his breath a too-warm weight against the side of her neck. “You bit me.”
Winnie stiffened. “I,” she managed to force out. “I’m sorry.” Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, stiff somehow. She swallowed and tried again. “I’m, I’m really sorry.”
“I don’t know that you should be,” von Trez murmured, squeezing her closer to him, shifting just enough in his seat that he could grind his cock against her. “It felt good.”
Of course it did, Winnie thought, blankly. Of course.
“I’d like to come now, though,” was the low, sly addition. “If I use a condom, can I—”
“Sure,” Winnie muttered. “Why the fuck not.” Thankfully the words came out in a mostly innocuous monotone rather than as the screech of rage that lay behind them. “Do you have one, or should I…?”
“I have one,” von Trez said, hastily. “I made sure.”
Suddenly, Winnie realized that his hangers-on were… they were surrounding her and von Trez in a quiet, outwardly facing semicircle that made her feel weak-kneed with relief, and then even weaker, drained by the sheer amount of fury boiling within her at the thought of that relief.
I’m being raped! she wanted to scream at their stoic, wordless backs. All she did was squirm uneasily when von Trez encouraged her to stand with a light, groping push on her ass, and then tugged on her skirt until she turned around to face him.
> VONT: one moment, please.
Winnie blinked, unable to believe the sheer amount of gall that was on display before her. Von Trez was unzipping his fancy, fashionably weathered jeans and freeing his cock from within black cotton boxers with the ease and confidence of a man in his own bedroom.
“…Museum of the Satin Night,” the train announcer said, as von Trez pulled a wrapped condom from his pocket. “Lovers’ Celebration festival still ongoing, expect congestion and delays on any connections made through this stop. Doors opening.”
“Like what you see?”
Winnie could feel the rustle of people exiting the car, and fewer than normal people replacing them. She couldn’t look away from the thick, heavy shape of von Trez’s cock, the almost ungainly weight of it. She didn’t know what he would do to her with it. She was tired.
“It’ll fit,” von Trez said, as he tore open the condom wrapper and stroked the thin condom onto himself. “I measured.” And then he winked at her, smiling so sunnily that she couldn’t help but stare at him. “Come here.”
There was no point in saying no. Winnie forced herself forward inch by inch, reaching out to take hold of the hand he was holding out to her.
She expected more instructions. She expected violence, the slow, deliberate, partly mental kind he seemed to prefer. The very last thing she expected was for von Trez to press a hot, wet kiss to the palm of her hand, and then lick it sloppily, his tongue a shock against her skin.
“You don’t mind using your hand, do you?” he breathed. “I want it.”
Winnie nodded. She couldn’t bring herself to speak. It’s better, she told herself. It’s just your hand.
But it didn’t feel better when he stood up and stepped in close, guiding her to wrap her slick hand around the heat of him. She could feel every inch of his thick length slide in and out of her uneasy grip, could feel his aura thick around them, propping the both of them up as the moving train tilted around curves and rattled over rough stretches of track.
“Bite me,” von Trez murmured. “Bite me again?”
She wanted to tear his fucking head off. She was pressed against him by his power, her hand moving and twisting as ordered, and the ‘bite’ that he wanted to use to get off was the kind of attack that could put her cousins or even some of her classmates out of commission for weeks if it properly hit.
Winnie bit down blindly, her aura flooding the cramped, hair-thin mental space his display had left between them. Her attack was half standard debilitating spike, and half an unstructured mental roar of anguish that only intensified when she heard him moan against the side of her head.
She bit him again, and his cock twitched heavily in her hand. She reached down between his legs, groping for his balls, and that finally did it, sent him slumping against her and panting as he thrust into her hand. The weight of his come made the tip of the condom bulge out obscenely, something Winnie could feel because his hand had come down to trap hers against his cock, to force her to stroke him one more time.
“See?” von Trez said, unsteadily. “See what you do to me?”
The tentacles surged into her, and Winnie let out a brief, shocked moan.
Before—
There was no comparison to how they had felt before.
Before, they’d only felt too big to fit. Now, she didn’t just feel stretched; she felt as if one ill-timed twitch from them would tear her apart.
> VONT: it’ll feel so good when I fuck you.
His mouth was on hers, muffling her shamed, panicky moans.
“Relax.”
Another tendril was rubbing against her arsehole, its teasing movements sending flinch after flinch through her.
> VONT: I won’t go in unless you want me to.
I don’t! Winnie shrieked, but thankfully it was only to herself, in a quiet corner below the snow caused by the raging storm of him rasping across her sky.
He was biting her too. Carefully. Tenderly. His teeth dug in, leaving stinging agony in their wake, and his fingers—his real fingers, and how did she know that?—were stroking smoothly inside her, in and under her skirt and down into her panties, stirring her up, churning her guilty wetness.
“It’s okay to come,” he said, or snarled, or whispered. Winnie was too muddled to tell.
She was bleeding, and the pleasure was so acute that she was gasping for breath, shaking against him. She felt a gush of fluid escape around the fingers he’d plugged into her, and shuddered again, unable to keep from savouring the feeling.
Is it over?
“Mm-hmm.”
Fear spiked through Winnie, shoving aside her guilty haze. “Um…” She didn’t know how to even begin to ask if he’d been reading her thoughts, or whether it was smart to do so. Thought reading was tricky and difficult as hell even for weird rich bastard geniuses, and asking about it would be tantamount to admitting she thought he could do it, which would also mean that she thought he was far stronger than her.
Which was true, but not something Winnie would ever give him the pleasure of saying without any sort of benefit.
Von Trez was smiling down at her, faintly. “Look at the chat,” he murmured.
Winnie looked, and found her shoulders relaxing despite the fact that she was still quite obviously trapped.
> Winwin: si it overr
Classic mistaken thoughttype.
Hopefully he wasn’t just humouring her. Hopefully it was really over. Hopefully, von Trez would smirk or smile or grin at her and wave her away, and she’d be able to retrieve her bag from where it rested at the foot of his seat and scuttle out of the ominous semicircle of his outward-facing hangers-on.
> VONT: you should be able to make a connection at this next stop.
> Winwin: …okay
> VONT: till next time, then.
Winnie, desperate to get away, did nothing but nod and grunt as she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and squeezed her way past the two mute hangers-on in front of her. It wasn’t until she was stepping briskly out onto the platform that she realized the implications of what he’d said.
Even so, she didn’t stop and sink to her knees and start screaming. Winnie just paused for a moment, then continued her anxious stride towards the stairs that led up to her nearest transfer. She had a train to catch, and there was no point worrying about something she couldn’t keep from happening again, if it did ever happen.