Work Text:
Furina sighs, shifting within the small bubble of personal space she’s got. Friday commutes are always painful, but this morning in particular has left her surrounded on all sides. She clings to the handle above as if it is her lifeline. Her eyes shut, a desperate mind willing the train to get her to work faster.
Something moves behind her, and she doesn’t immediately mind it. She doesn’t even open her eyes, assuming someone’s simply fidgeting or perhaps digging through their bag. She doesn’t think twice until —
Furina’s breathing becomes unsteady and shallow. Her mouth falls open like a door that’s been struck, petrifying blood gathering in rounded cheeks. Her shoulders rise to drowning, muted ears, and her palms sweat and shake around her purse and the empty space beside her.
A small chest rises and falls rapidly beneath a sudden, foreign touch. A wide, mismatched gaze falls, stuttering upon a most horrific violation.
A stranger’s girthy, coal black hand suffocates Furina’s tiny left breast. Long nails comparable to a wolf’s claws threaten to pierce delicate fabric and skin. Neat coats of black and red polish would make most guess this terrifying grasp belongs to a woman, but the hand’s sheer size and grip keeps this groper in an androgynous territory.
For a moment, the young office worker is frozen solid despite the crooked, warm touch. Horrors such as this make for common news stories, but somehow, Furina never imagined it would happen to her personally. Honestly, she never expected she’d be touched in such a place by anyone in any context, let alone one as terrifying as this. Feeling distant from her very own situation, she looks around wildly, as if searching for any indication that this is real.
But, no one looks back. No one seems to have noticed her predicament at all. Everyone upon this crowded train remains apathetic or unknowing, all of them absorbed in their phones or their books.
Furina’s half convinced herself she’s just having some weird, hyper realistic nightmare when the molesting hand squeezes her breast tightly. Involuntarily, she lets out something between a gasp and a sob — An entirely undignified sound that has people nearby finally turning around to look.
Already flushed cheeks come to burn so brightly, Furina swears she can see smoke fill the train around her. She babbles and stutters, her head somehow both light and terribly, terribly heavy with the attention of onlookers. Immediately, she’s desperate to redeem herself somehow.
“W-Whatever do you think you’re doing?” She demands. The question comes out loud, even as her voice quivers like a child at a horror stage play. Her lips twist into some nervous, slanted non-smile in an attempt to suit her poor performance of confidence. She can feel a thick bead of sweat sinking towards a bold, jutting chin.
For a brief moment, the train is made quiet, and Furina thinks her troubled charade might just have worked after all. That delusion falls flat immediately thereafter as the actress checks her audience’s expressions.
Parents sneer at her, pulling their little ones close and covering their eyes before continuing about their day. Elders look at her similarly, and other workers pinch their brows in tight, mumbling and returning to their phone after acknowledging the annoying disruption. A group of teenagers towards the front of the train point and laugh amongst themselves, and not a single person shows a desire to help.
Not a single person indicates concern. All of them seem annoyed Furina would dare to make any noise at all, let alone such a noisy, ridiculous cry for help.
Furina must admit — Any further cries catch in her throat, surfacing as far quieter whimpers. Her eyes fall to her feet and stay there, clenching shut when the now emboldened groper grabs Furina’s right breast just the same.
Both her tits are squeezed in what feels like a death grip. It almost feels like the creep intends on choking her through them. Frankly, Furina can’t say she doesn’t feel strangled as the violent molestation continues. Like a real victim of near asphyxiation coming up for air, Furina begins to panic.
“Why are you doing this?” She asks, hushed and wobbling. “Please… Stop… Don’t hurt me, please!”
One of the creep’s hands drift upwards. Long nails trail the collar of Furina’s work blouse, swiping up over her jugular. The woman audibly swallows beneath the threatening touch. Just one scratch over the right vein and she’s done for…
“Please… Don’t!”
“I’d keep quiet if I were you,” A whisper comes from behind. The words are a cold breeze, blown right against the shell of Furina’s ear. Though it may be phrased like a simple suggestion, the threat lurking beneath the dark, husky voice is obvious.
To further follow up on this, a wide, spider black palm slaps over Furina’s mouth. The stranger’s fingers make like the limbs of a daddy long leg, reaching far and wide, posing threat to the soft skin upon Furina’s face as honed talons sink in. Their index finger spreads to the corner of her eye as it waters, and their still massive pinky finger tickles a tensing jaw. All further pleas are muffled with ease.
Furina would like to think of herself as a brave person. But in a moment such as this, she can barely consider herself a person at all, let alone a brave one. Her begging drowns beneath the large hand upon her, and she quickly loses hope. She sinks further and further beneath this terror, succumbing to whatever they might want from her.
She’s beginning to spiral when the train suddenly arrives at her stop. Much of the crowd around her begins to move, filing out nearby doors. Furina feels the grip upon her slip in the commotion, and she knows she must leap at this opportunity as it's presented on a silver platter.
She scurries away like a mouse, only half alive after fleeing from the house cat. Her soul’s halfway out her body as she scrambles off the train, avoiding any further frustrated glances from strangers. She races to her office, still reeling from the web she’d so narrowly escaped.
That evening, Furina’s horribly stiff in reboarding the train. It’s somehow even busier than it was in the morning, and her heart hammers in her ear as innocent strangers briefly brush against her.
The workday had saved her from dwelling upon the new trauma too deeply, but now, as she’s forced to revisit the scene of the crime… She’s unable to quell the panic in her breath, the shivers wracking her spine. She relives the assault each time she closes her eyes, and she hears her harasser’s husky voice each time the crowd quiets.
She remembers how that dark, presumably tattooed grip looked, consuming her chest without question. She remembers how she feared for her life as long nails crept upward, teasing the vein upon her neck… She remembers how her own muffled cries sounded against the giant’s palm.
She remembers how the others upon the train only glared and laughed, leaving her trauma to feel so utterly petty and ridiculous even in retrospect.
When she feels hands over her breasts again, she initially assumes she’s truly and fully succumbing to the horrific memory. Even as she looks down and sees the black hands that cup her like a vice, she believes she must just be going crazy. Surely, she’s hallucinating the scene all over again, her own masochistic brain forcing her to suffer a second time around.
It’s not until a new, vivid and crisp whisper tickles her ear that she finally recognizes the situation for what it is. “Fancy meeting you here,” The creep says, like it is funny. Like it is jovial that they’ve run into each other yet again.
What a very twisted idea of a joke. Furina knows better than to try and cry for help this time. The sneering passengers from the morning leave her voice quiet and raspy. “Please… Don’t,” She tries still. She stammers. “P-Please… Not again.”
The creep pays her pleas no mind. Instead, they seem further riled and ambitious. Furina wonders if history is doomed to repeat beat for beat as one hand ventures upward, but the claws stop at her collar. There’s a pause, as if the creep intends to tease her again…
Before the top button of Furina’s blouse pops open. The woman whimpers, her eyes immediately stinging as they did that morning, and the creep only continues onward. They unbutton her top until the tip of her bra is made visible.
Then… The jet black hands dive right into the opening they’ve carved. Talons are eagerly dipped beneath the revealed bra, openly molesting Furina’s bare tits. She is groped and squeezed in a matter that feels quite honestly violent, and she struggles to continue breathing right.
Thick tears welling within mismatched eyes crash over, drowning heated cheeks. Her entire frame trembles, as if threatening to be caught in the tumultuous waves just the same. She glances around desperately as the whole train seems to rock and bend, but the blurring crowd remains just as apathetic to another’s struggles as ever.
Everything feels like this morning but so, so viscerally worse. It’s like reliving a realistic, nearly tame trauma in a nightmare or a dramatic sitcom, where every little detail is amplified. Her breasts are violated by the very same black hands, but now they grasp at her bare flesh. The thin mouth at her ear is the same as before, but now she can feel the creep’s breathing get heavy and hot and sticky. She smells the creep’s musk like its chloroform pressed against her nose, iron and spearmint and black licorice pervading her every sense. She feels their taller, broader form draped over her back like an ever present web she can’t crawl away from.
She’s being traumatized in public and no one cares just as she was this morning, but this time, the monster ravishing her leaves a harsh mark. It was probably unavoidable with claws so sharp, but she weeps nonetheless when a long, black nail delves into her left breast, cutting just above her stuttering heart. Even in the moment, Furina can objectively acknowledge this as a small, perhaps even accidental slash… But her terrified chest heaves beneath the thin line of blood the scratch spits out, her pulse jumping like she’s moments from bleeding out.
The creep doesn’t acknowledge this inflicted agony in the slightest. If anything, the breathing beside Furina’s ear only gets harsher, more excited. Irrationally, she wonders if her entire chest will be torn to bits by the time this beast is done with her.
Much like the previous encounter, Furina is only saved by the screeching of the train’s brakes. It’s not her own stop yet, but the hands grabbing at her drop. The woman’s in an odd daze as the creep’s presence dissipates from behind her. She can’t even bring herself to look up, to catch their broader appearance as they leave the train.
Instead, her dizzy head plunges into her wobbling, unsteady hands, and she sobs. She sobs the rest of the train ride home, only barely remembering to adjust her bra and blouse so she’s presentable for new waves of passengers. Tiny beads of crimson stain her white shirt, and a rigorous salt lake weighs down her tiny face even on her way back to her apartment complex.
Come Monday morning, Furina is near tears just approaching her usual train stop. Her stomach churns in a way it never has before. She finds herself fidgeting, fretting, her feet bouncing as the train arrives, its doors opening.
A lot of bravery is mustered as she boards this time around. She convinces herself she won’t encounter the creep again. Perhaps they don’t work Mondays. Perhaps they’ll give up on her and pick on someone else today. Perhaps they never even existed and Furina simply hallucinated everything last friday.
As she navigates the train’s crowd, she holds tightly onto her purse, as if the faux leather will comfort her. Her other hand finds the tiny scar over her heart. It’s healed over for the most part now, but the wound still feels as fresh and tender as the day she received it.
Trembling, Furina scans the hands of each other passenger. She looks for the absurdly large jet black hands, and she feels ridiculous when all she can see is common flesh. She breathes in and she breathes out, and she convinces herself this train ride will indeed be normal and safe and good.
She convinces herself her past trauma was a fluke, a farce. The scar she stared upon for hours in the mirror over this last weekend… It’s merely the result of some clumsy accident she’s unable to recall, yes.
No matter how delusional, the denial is comforting to indulge in. Furina breathes openly for a good while — That is, until a few stops into her train ride, when her own baseless reassurances fall devastatingly flat.
The hands are back, like they were never gone. The scent is back, a sickly sweet, frozen plasma flooding her nose in fresh waves. The voice is back, but in her vast distress, Furina can’t hear what is said even as the words are uttered right against her ear. Time begins moving much too fast. Everything becomes a blurry and jarring experience, as if Furina’s body intends to shut down and save her the oncoming third round of misery.
The familiar stranger doesn’t bother with the pleasantries they did on Friday. Boldly, they all but rip the buttons from Furina’s blouse. They rush right past the navy bra Furina dons that day, grasping the woman’s breasts like they’ve been earnestly waiting to do this all over again.
Furina wonders if they fantasized about this over the weekend. She wonders if they got off to the idea of furthering these violations, whilst their victim tried to desperately forget all about it.
Friday night, Furina showered about a hundred times. Saturday, she locked herself up in her apartment and traced her violated body for hours, and then she showered five hundred more times. Sunday, she scrubbed her legs in the bath so violently she swears she bled a little. Seeing the scalding red only reminded her of the wound on her chest… Of the bold color painted upon select nails of her violator…
She tried so hard to forget. In between showers, she would watch all her favorite films. She would read the play scripts that would normally comfort her dearly. But everything came back to the creep that holds her now, to the midnight hands wrapped around breasts previously completely untouched…
Every brief interaction with the neighbors she barely knew reminded her of the fellow passengers she barely knew, and the disparaging looks on their faces as she was traumatized. Every tall shadow reminded her of how it felt to have an imposing person at her backside, playing with her body like it's some sort of fiddle. Every glance at the clock reminded her of how Monday was fast approaching, and how she’d have to board the same train to work.
Furina wore herself thin whilst the abusive creep behind her probably had one of the greatest weekends of their life. Oh, if they only knew how miserable Furina has been, they’d surely be even more delighted.
They probably do know, at least to some extent. They probably know and recognize that they’ve broken Furina down far further than necessary, and they probably don’t care. They probably get off on it.
Furina’s breath hitches sharply as a blunt nail draws over her stiffening nipple. Where everything up until this point had been a hazy, odd, near out-of-body experience, this was startling and real. From this point forward, there is no reminiscing, no distraction. Furina cannot focus on anything other than the fingers that come to fully pinch her nipples.
She feels like she should cry, but for a moment, she can't. She feels like she should have a heart attack, a freakout of massive proportions, but she can't. She's limply stuck in place, vividly experiencing the unpleasant abuse of her buds. Each little brush and pull and stroke and squeeze is felt fully and brilliantly.
The presence behind her seems to lean in further, a threatening head poking around her shoulder. Furina doesn't dare even steal a glance. No, she is fastened, stapled in place, softly whining as she's violated in a brand new way.
Her nipples are toyed with in the most crude fashion possible. She’s tugged upon as though she’s a cow being urged to produce milk. Panting grows hot and somehow muggy against her nape, like the creep wishes they could latch their rotten mouth onto her.
Chills devour Furina whole as the exhales get hotter and hotter yet. In time, she can finally feel the tears streaming down her chin, catching over the corners of trembling lips. She can finally feel her heart thumping violently, like it wishes to escape her ribcage just as Furina wishes to escape this disgusting creep’s grip.
A humiliating, foul sob surfaces from deep within her desecrated chest. She can feel the annoyed eyes of the train creep back towards her, but she cannot help this mortifying spectacle. Her pride is long lost to madness and terror, and she despises it more than any other part of this.
Somehow, the worst part of being molested isn’t the simple act of being used and abused against Furina’s own will, though of course that’s terrible. The worst part is that she doesn’t have full control over her reactions, and it feels like her entire body rather than just her breasts have succumbed to this monster behind her. The worst part is feeling like a doll, her whole being maneuvered and controlled beneath a beast’s wide paws.
The worst part is suffering so deeply she’s not even a person to anyone involved anymore, let alone herself. She’s become nothing more than a defiled puppet for the whole train to gawk at.
Her mercy once again comes in the train stopping, but this time, it doesn’t even feel much like mercy.
The train brakes sound out, and the sick puppeteers' mouth wanders back towards Furina’s ear. “Have a good day at work,” They whisper. They drop hold of her like they’re setting aside a toy they intend to play with again at a later date. Furina haphazardly adjusts her bra, buttoning her shirt back up before she heads out.
But throughout her workday, the creep’s puppet strings remain firmly attached and don’t dare to snap. Her shoulders stick to her earlobes, and every professional interaction forces her to bottle stinging tears.
She can’t get the ill whisper they offered out of her head, and she just about considers checking into a mental hospital.
The days begin blending into one another in the worst way possible, a devolving pattern of sorts forming.
On Monday evening, the creep coos at Furina as they toy with her nipples in an even cruder fashion than before, cranking her buds in all the wrong directions. On Tuesday, they play with her just the same whilst pressing kisses to Furina’s neck, merlot stains left in their wake. On Wednesday, one particularly bold hand travels downward, encroaching Furina’s hips. On Thursday, that same hand reaches over her upper thigh. On Friday, the creep wanders successfully beneath Furina’s skirt, muttering about how it’s much too long for their liking.
Over the weekend, Furina showers a thousand times more. Her heavy head rests against porcelain tile, smoldering water cascading down her back, dripping from her soaked hair. Mismatched eyes glaze over, pale lashes drooping over their mist.
Every last one of the creep’s words tickles against the shell of her ear even now. Every last touch of those charcoal hands haunt her, phantom palms continuing to move over her body. Faint nails scrape against her jugular still, and it's harder to fight them. It's harder for Furina to fear for her life when she’s been filed down into a husk of her former self, shaking beneath her own shower head as though the creep will break in and molest her even here.
She does not want to go to work on Monday, but she can’t afford the day off. She’s considered every other transportation option, but none of them will work no matter how she bends them — Trust her, she’s exhausted every last idea.
Furina’s stuck boarding the train Monday morning. She’s stuck boarding it the Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday after.
She’s stuck beneath this creep’s whims for the foreseeable future, and for that, she weeps. Tears slip from her face in time with the shower’s stream.
Monday morning, Furina barely pulls herself from bed. Sheets stick to her sweaty, unrested form. Crust is wiped from her eyes as she goes to dress herself, tripping over unwashed garments from an unproductive, dour weekend.
Opening her dresser, limited options greet her. She’s forced to dig through her clothes like she’s working through rubble in the ruins of her escalating depression. She draws the most professional garments available to her, considering how she’s neglected the laundry.
An often forgotten baby blue blouse is eased over her head. A pencil skirt that happens to be just a little too short for her liking is pulled up to her waistline. She considers herself in the mirror, deciding this is enough for her current predicament.
The skirt really isn’t that terribly short, if she thinks about it. It still reaches a centimeter below her fingertips, and she knows she owns far shorter skirts. She just wouldn’t personally think to wear such garments to her workplace.
Furina only barely styles her hair before rushing herself to the usual train stop, knowing she took much too long to get up for the day. She tries not to think of the creep’s words or their hands or their creeping fingers over her neck. She tries not to think of what they’ll do to her today or the day after that.
Inevitably, she ends up thinking about them the whole way there, the thought of the creep lingering on her mind like their phantom hands linger on her body. A jackhammering heart rises to the start of her throat, drilling holes in all attempts at even breathing. Unshed tears boil large, strained eyes as Furina waits for the train, standing perhaps a little too close to the edge of the platform.
She almost falls back into a working woman’s bored routine when she finally gets aboard. She doesn’t look for black hands, but she doesn’t grasp onto any useless sense of hope, either. She finds a spot near the back corner of the train, and she folds into herself, still struggling to breathe or think of much aside from the obvious. Her head is tucked down, her gaze stuck over plain loafers and the shorter-than-usual skirt of the day.
Stashed away, time seems to become as agitated and out of place as Furina, the minutes somehow both slowing and speeding forward. Everything only seems to fall back into its proper space when wretched hands physically reach over her again — When everything Furina has spent the last two weekends dreading creeps back with full force.
“What a lovely skirt you have here,” The unfortunately familiar voice says. “How kind of you, wearing it for me after last Friday’s complaints. I never realized you were this sort of a slut.”
The word rings in Furina’s ears. She knows right away that the way the creep nearly growled ‘slut’ will echo in the air around her for the next week, the next month… The next year, the next lifetime perhaps even. Is reincarnation capable of lifting such a dooming curse placed upon you?
That’s what this creep is, Furina thinks, watching as they don’t even bother with her tits this morning. This creep is a terrible, terrible curse. Even the most profound spiritual salvation will not save Furina from the dark hands that go straight beneath her scandalous, so-called slutty skirt.
Sharp, hexing nails find and latch onto lace panties. The talons wander the surrounding area for a brief moment before honing in on a most unlucky sweet spot. Furina hates the way her head is thrown back, the force behind the movement beyond her conscious mind’s every desire. She hates the way slim hips thrust into the unwanted, troubling sensation of a harasser. She hates the way she whimpers like a true pornstar slut, teeth piercing through her bottom lip in a rush so as to stifle any further sounds.
The black pad of the creep’s index finger circles around Furina’s clit, teasing her through sheer fabric. Knees wobble and sweating thighs try to clamp down around the invading hand. Cheeks stain a deeper shade of pink than ever before. All of Furina’s body heat heads towards her face, her cunt and the tips of her ears, leaving the rest of her form far too faint.
She’s not allowed to bask in this first pleasure for long, however. As anyone who’s witnessed Furina’s previous assaults could have guessed, kind teasing swiftly gives way to a serious and calculated brutality. Circles become fast, irregular spirals. Pressure grows too intense for such a very sensitive location. The creep’s claws threaten to leave a mark over the woman’s overstimulated clitoris, just as they’ve previously marked her breast.
When Furina feels her lash line weighed down with tears for the millionth time that week, it’s very easy to tell herself it’s because she’s in agony. When she bites down on her lip so hard it bleeds, it’s easy to tell herself it's just to muffle cries of pain and nothing more. When she feels her cunt clamping around nothing, it’s easy to ignore.
When she feels her pussy slowly growing wet, she struggles to come up with such an excuse, but… She figures the creep must have cut her good and she must be bleeding down there now, too. There’s no way she’s possibly continuing to find pleasure despite the hard and fast motions she’s being forced to endure. There’s no way.
She could explain away her body’s betrayal when it was mere teasing. It was a completely normal, expected physiological response she could not control. Anyone would lean into such a gentle caress of their clit… But surely, only a sick freak would find pleasure in such a horrible violation of self. Surely, only a total slut would be so soaked from an assaulter’s rushed and brutal administrations.
When the creep chuckles in Furina’s ear, she wonders if they can tell. They probably can. They can probably feel the wetness through her panties. They’ve probably noticed how her body’s gone from shaking out of fear, to shaking out of proximity to orgasm. One peak over her shoulder, and they’d see the short trail of blood from her lip, the clenching of her eyes.
Her body bends into the abuse, only providing the creep with more evidence of her true state. She cannot help the tears that finally scale over blistering cheekbones, and she cannot help when a startlingly loud moan breaks through tight teeth. Her eyes bulge right open, wide, wet and red, Furina frantically scans the crowd around her.
The reaction is worse than it’s ever been, she thinks. People stare at her until she stares back, and even then, they’re half hearted in looking away. Most have to pluck their jaws from the floor in the process, and others purse their lips and narrow their eyes. Many flare their nostrils, and a particular older woman mumbles unfriendly curses. A father pulls his three children in close, telling them not to look.
All of it stings, but Furina squirms most when she finds a few people staring much too long, some twisted stars in their eyes. Some lucky enough to be seated toss their bags over their laps. Cheeks flush only a few shades milder than her own.
Does the creep behind her look similarly? Their ever searing breath blows hard against the delicately scarlet shell of her ear. Their empty hand finds her humiliating, thrusting hip, caressing the skin there through her short, tight skirt. Furina is still far from brave enough to just twist her head backwards and check, but she feels an unsavory gaze twisting over her neck, crawling down past the top of her blouse.
Instinctively, Furina pulls her shirt upwards. She focuses on the breath, the disgusting touch like it will distract her from the clearly approaching climax. Unfortunately, all this seems to do is leave her cunt wetter and wetter, drowning over the tormented lace its found friction with.
It’s awful, how Furina’s pleasure persists no matter what she does. It seems inevitable that this creep reveals all the terrible, terrible stars hidden behind clenched lids. Her fate lies in wetting firm, raven fingers through sheer fabric.
She’s muttering utter nonsense to herself, crimson iron on a newly unguarded tongue. Pale brows knit together over squinting, wrinkling eyes. Her legs no longer merely wobble, they quake as though she’s about to experience a natural disaster rather than a high most people experience every other day. She’s at the very cusp of a world shattering orgasm, stood at the very edge of a high cliff…
And then the train’s brake is screeching, coming to the common halt Furina can’t believe she’s cursing. She blubbers, a wet wailing erupting from the wrong orifice. The creep’s fingers retract, and there’s a horrible, knowing chuckle beside her jawline.
“Have a good day at work. I’ll look forward to seeing you this evening.”
Furina can almost imagine the creep’s smirk despite not knowing their face, twisted, long lips tainted with the same merlot leftover on her neck days prior. A now crudely dampened hand slaps her ass. Despite how mild that is in the face of the damage they’ve inflicted this morning alone, Furina gasps through thick, disgusting drool.
She’s an utter mess scrambling from the train, the last person to get through the door. And yet, she’s hardly concerned with her presentation anymore. She pulls her skirt down and adjusts her hair like it’s a daily routine turned instinct.
Furina thinks about brutal fingers over her clothed clit the entire work day. She swears she can feel an agitated lingering scratch over her crotch, but when she’s checked in the bathroom, she’s seen nothing. The burning and the paranoia reaches a boiling point where Furina considers if she may have contracted a sexually transmitted infection before realizing there’s no way that’s possible. A lump sticks in the thick of her throat and a red haze stays lined over her eyes.
She’s surely gone mad, and the worst is she can’t quite tell if she hates the creep’s phantom hands anymore. She can’t tell if she hates the burning or the lingering scratch, now that they’ve moved down over such a sweet spot. She definitely does not like it… But she’s not sure she hates it anymore, either. A somehow constant tingle keeps her spine upright throughout her day’s work, at least.
It seems the creep did indeed look forward to seeing her in the evening.
They play by a similar playbook now, roughly circling Furina’s clitoris. This time, they grope at her breast as well, like a fond and frisky call back to their first crude week together. A large, dusk thumb comes to toy with her nipple in time with the slimmer, longer finger at her clit, the two rough rhythms finding a sick harmony.
“Are you getting close?” They whisper to her. Furina hates it, but they do indeed bring her to the same edge they did that morning. Her only acknowledgment of the question is a whine that strains her ears.
She’s about to cum but denied a second time when the creep slinks off of her yet again, leaving at their usual stop. She’s left trembling in place, sobbing as they walk away. She struggles to care anymore when people stare at her sullied form this time around — A low she never expected to reach, especially after such close proximity to a high.
That night, she showers only ten times. The fourth time, she considers taking the shower head into her own hands, leading it down towards the spot the creep touched her last. She never goes through with it.
The next six showers are hotter than ever, the valve below her faucet cranked as far to the left as possible. She hopes it will burn away the shame that sits over her wretched, tarnished skin. Her weighted head leans against porcelain like a newly formed habit, and she thinks of how far she’s fallen.
This creep has chipped away at her, piece by piece, to a point where she feels this abuse is not only a destiny she can't hide from… But a punishment she feels she deserves at her very core. Her identity is no longer what it was before she ran into the creep. She’s a shell of her former self, her shoulders raw and red and her eyebags forming purple, veiny craters over her face.
She’s a hollowed, decaying vessel existing for no purpose other than fulfilling the fantasies of some perverted creep on the train. Last week, she was in complete denial of this. Last week, she would have crumbled when the creep called her a ‘slut,’ doubling over from a simple touch of the breast. Now, she’s still grieving her past life, but she thinks she’s quickly nearing a wavering, miserable acceptance of some kind.
Ousting herself from the shower, Furina gathers the dirty laundry littered around her apartment space. She moves through the task like a frayed zombie, limping through the motions of being a normal human being. She ends up crashing out less than halfway through the chore, sprawled over her couch as her soaked clothes burn a hole in the complex’s shared washer.
She wakes late Tuesday morning. By the time she realizes her lousy mistake, her hands are already tied. Furina rushes to the train in an even shorter skirt than the day before.
At least the creep enjoys the feast of Furina’s lacking labor. They compliment the skirt selection, black hands tracing the short hem with a disgusting appreciation before ducking beneath yet again. They feel so emboldened to pull her panties aside whilst rubbing her clit in the evening. Furina still never reaches an orgasm.
That night, Furina is dutiful in completing her laundry. She even sits with it, tucked in a creaking chair as longer skirts tumble around a cheap dryer unit. And yet… Come Wednesday morning, she still selects an even smaller skirt.
It’s the shortest, tightest little skirt she owns, the bottom never reaching her fingertips. Dark navy fabric hugs her every curve. Paired with her finest heels, her nicest bag and even a dash of the makeup she’s neglected lately, Furina looks remarkably well put together for a woman who’s been dealing with such avid harassment these last two weeks. She looks like she’s heading off for a date rather than a rusty old train she knows she’ll be assaulted within.
Furina can’t really explain why she heads out looking like this. There isn’t any explanation that would be satisfactory enough. She tells herself it’s because the weather’s getting nicer, but that’s hardly true and she knows it.
There are more compliments waiting for her on the train. Previous witnesses to her molestation admire her eyeshadow. She stiffly thanks them, but she doesn’t feel fulfilled until those prophesied black hands return to her, thin lips brushing over her ears.
“Don’t you look lovely today? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to seduce me at this point.” A few low chuckles come from their very own jest. “I assure you, such a thing isn’t necessary. But, the easy access is always appreciated. I suppose thanks are in order.”
No further preamble is offered before the creep’s delving right in, raven claws dipping below the short, tight navy blue. Fresh, dusty pink panties are nearly torn as the creep whisks them aside, a dark finger swiftly recentering over a familiar clitoris right thereafter.
Today, their touch feels oddly gentle and considerate. They still stroke the bean a little fast, a little more erratic than they might in an ideal world, but it really does feel as though they’re doing what they can to offer Furina their earnest thanks. Then, their fingers wander further down under, and their true motives come to light.
It’s a little humiliating how quickly they got Furina this sopping wet, but it seems to come in handy for the creep when they go to shove a long index finger between virgin folds. Furina gasps, her entire body seizing around this unexpected, foreign intrusion. Sweat drips around raised brows, falling off a dropped jaw.
Furina’s never been touched this way by anyone. Before her harasser came into the picture, she’d never been touched much at all. She thought she’d started to make peace with it all, but somehow, it’s like she failed to see the obvious direction all of this was heading towards.
Of course, the creep was never going to keep to rubbing her clit through her underwear and nothing more. Of course, they’d never stay satisfied with toying with her so simply. It’s natural that things would escalate in this way, and she’s been so utterly naive to not consider such a thing.
All this time, Furina’s been drowning, barely keeping her head above water. She’s been so occupied staying alive in the present and accepting the near past, that she hadn’t been able to see the foreshadowed future playing out before her now. She hadn’t seen the further floods, the boisterous typhoons headed her way.
There’s no holding anything back anymore. There’s no attempt to hold back her tears as the creep rams long digits deep within her, cheap mascara trailing over her face. There’s no trying to subdue herself, to convince herself this is all okay as she’s torn apart.
In turn, the creep does not hold back on her, either. There’s no slow easing her into this. There’s no wait before a second finger pushes in, meeting the first in crude scissor-like motions. Furina doesn’t catch up even as the third finger rushes in after. Her head stays tucked beneath oncoming waves, her entire body smothered.
On Monday night, she wallowed over how horribly this creep had tainted her, stripping her down into a version of herself she couldn’t recognize. Now, with their claws deep within her, she realizes they’ve been going easy on her. They’ve only barely scratched the surface on the kind of soul-robbing torture they can offer Furina.
The worst part is that, in time, Furina finds pleasure in this, too. And somehow, it doesn’t shock her in the slightest. Now that the foggy path she’s been led down for the last two weeks is clear, everything makes sense. Everything she’s been through has been a mere stepping stone for this moment, where her cunt throbs around this sick invasion of self.
When Furina first grew wet for this creep, slick flowing beneath their circling of their clit, she tried to convince herself it was blood and they’d scraped her. This idea was easier to consider than the idea that she could actually be getting off on something so terrible. Even if she objectively recognizes how very naive the idea is, she feels some part of herself drawn back to the same excuse now. It would make sense if such sharp nails scratched something wrong within her, wouldn’t it?
It’s better than thinking she’s reached such a terrible, depraved state that she’s getting off on this creep’s fingers within her. But as she feels herself being swept away, brought back towards a terribly familiar edge, she stops honestly thinking much at all. Proper thoughts melt away in honor of every burning, urgent feeling.
She feels her own juices coating dark digits like never before, lewd, wet noises far too audible amidst the train’s crowd. She feels the knots in her own stomach tying around something better, something crazier than butterflies. She feels herself clamping down around a new, fourth finger, and she feels a thumb reaching up to caress her clit.
She whines and she moans and groans, bursting right into the chorus of an incomprehensible, high pitched song she doesn’t even know personally. She humps into her abuser’s hand like a sick, confused dog, blubbering as tears from before continue. Her makeup smears and her snot smears, muddying a contorted face until it’s something Furina wouldn’t even recognize in the mirror.
She grows so, so terribly close, so close she’s thrown all self respect away, but she does not actually expect to finally reach the long-awaited climax. Where it was shocking and novel to be touched and penetrated by another for the first time, this orgasm is all the more electrifying.
Where Furina was singing before, she must be screaming now, her jaw just about falling from her face. The sound’s only barely muffled moments after by the creep’s hasty, unoccupied hand slapping over her mouth. Her pussy holds the creep’s fingers much like the way the creep’s previously held her breasts — A natural, unintended death grip forming over already black hands. Her knuckles grow white at her sides and her legs are limp and shaking around the worst of it.
Squirt spits out over the creep’s hand, but with such an intense, oncoming stream, a mere hand cannot hope to prevent much. Like a fountain, Furina splashes over once fine heels and the train floor below. She hears people muttering, she hears the creep cursing in awe beside her left ear, but she’s lost to her own fluids. She doesn’t resurface and find her shame until she comes down from her high, the flow of discharge ceasing.
Her whimpers don’t cease, nor do the mascara-tracking tears. Small shoulders tremble, threatening to close in on themselves. Fists fall apart, becoming clammy, open palms.
“What a wonderful display,” The creep remarks, and the heat blowing against Furina’s ear is hotter than ever. It’s probably not helped by Furina’s own smoldering, deeply flushed skin, the creep’s every breath only adding fuel to an already ravenous fire.
This most recent Monday evening, when Furina sobbed after being denied her second orgasm, she remembers a distinct hollow feeling that comes from falling so, so long after such a vibrant high. Now, she does not feel hollow. She does not feel apathetic with the train’s collective gaze pointed towards her.
She feels caved in, each eye a dagger cutting her deeper and deeper. She feels she’s fallen through rock bottom into something more archaic. She feels at the verge of vomiting, her sobs reaching a gross, gross point where they more closely resemble gags.
How is Furina meant to go into work in this state? The train stops, but her mental collapse doesn’t. Her panties snap back into place over a very literally drenched pussy, and she wants to crawl out of her skin. She wants to give up whatever mortal sin she’s committed that led her to a point of deserving this shit.
“Hm? Aren’t you going to go to work? Don’t miss your stop now.”
The words feel beyond Furina’s comprehension, her mind too fuzzy, too frazzled to make sense of anything… But it seems something in her bones understands the message. Something makes her trudge off the train.
She digs into her once impressive bag, fishing up some wipes, and she cleans her shoes before dragging herself into the office. Broken as she feels, she doesn’t have the time to mull over it properly. She never, ever does.
Even her days off haven’t been enough. A hundred showers, a thousand showers… None of it’s enough.
The creep seems to agree. None of it’s enough.
That evening, they’re knuckles deep in Furina all over again. They’re fucking her until she’s squirting over dirty train floors again. They’re hot against her ear again.
But, in new news, they’re hot against her ass, too. Furina wheezes, finding a large, hard pressure rutting over her backside. Refusing to be as naive as she’s been in the past, she connects the necessary dots and understands what this means for her future… But she cannot quite accept the conclusion this paints for her.
“You dressed so nice for me today,” The creep whispers before it’s their time to leave, pressing a bulging erection against Furina like one last reminder they’ll be masturbating to this when they get home. The thought sends a sharp shiver down Furina’s spine. “Perhaps, you’ll do me a favor and wear something even shorter tomorrow? Think about it.”
Furina can’t explain why she gets off a stop later than she usually does, heading towards her city’s shopping district. There isn’t any explanation that would be satisfactory enough. She heads home with a skirt shorter than anything she’s ever worn — Something so terribly short and tight, she thinks her boss may ask her to change out of it come tomorrow.
Thursday morning, the creep doesn’t take much time to appreciate Furina’s newest garment before reaching right beneath it. Somehow, their impatience serves as a better compliment than anything else. It’s like they just cannot resist.
Furina doesn’t let herself form rebuttals about how this creep has, ultimately, never resisted the chance to violate her in this way. She doesn’t let herself linger, questioning why their immediate, unbridled violation is something she’d want. Much like her recent selections in skirts, there’s no explanation that would ever be satisfactory enough.
It’s better not to think anymore. Furina’s not sure she’s capable of thinking clearly anymore anyways. Ever since cumming on her abuser’s fingertips, there’s been no opportunity to slow down and piece things together. There’s been no reason to.
Furina won’t be overcoming this creep or the continually violating situations they’ve been thrusting upon her any time soon. Yesterday morning, she saw past the fog, her cunt penetrated by another for the very first time. Yesterday evening, she felt her future held against her unwilling back, immense like the lump blocking up her throat.
Is it shocking she welcomes a new wave of brain fog now? If she cannot overcome this creep, why should she continue to think, to resist them? Why not just give up, and sink down into their oblivion? She would probably never fully admit to this thought process, but she doesn’t have to. She feels herself descending regardless, her mind moving past the capacity for thought or resistance.
Furina nears her orgasm quicker now that she’s not thinking much. The only part of her continuing to resist is her puny body, her instincts simply refusing to shut down. It’s odd, how her body has been a traitor all throughout these past two weeks, but now it stands as Furina’s last line of defense, trying to chase off the demons that plague Furina’s forsaken mind. Something within her beating heart, her wrenching gut seems to still understand this is unwanted, even as her mind’s given up.
A heart and a gut can’t hold off such an inevitable climax for long, though. Furina feels herself inching closer and closer to the brink, her cunt suffocating the now familiar fingers prodding within. Her body won’t keep her from what approaches. Nothing will.
Except, perhaps, the creep themselves. Furina’s shocked when their fingers pull from her much before her stop. She’s panting, reeling, unintelligible protest spilling from whining lips. But, she’s not left in the dark for long.
She hears a zipper stop dragging behind her. She hears a shifting of fabrics that aren’t her own this time around, a short groan further beyond her ear than the creep’s noises would usually be. Then, it happens.
The pressure she felt yesterday evening is back, unclothed and sliding against a previously fingered, absolutely sopping pussy. Furina can feel a wide, distinct head, spitting pre-cum over her already messy cunt and moving to press against a throbbing clit. The shape forms a clear bump over the front of the new, tight skirt. She can feel wide, distinctly carved veins, rubbing between her folds. She can feel firm balls slap against the backs of her thighs as the creep shifts against her in the middle of a public train that fades far, far into the background even though it definitely shouldn’t.
“What are you…” Furina gasps, her voice something between a whimper and a whisper. “Shouldn’t you… Mmm.. Condom?”
The creep’s hand flies over Furina’s mouth, and it’s not clear whether it’s to silence the woman’s indiscernible calls for a condom, or a clever precaution taken for foreseen following events. Despite her distant attempts at protest, Furina doesn’t take long to finish at all with such a girth rubbing against her. The cock teasing her opening doesn’t get a chance to slide in before Furina’s squirting over the behemoth length of it, coating the organ entirely with her juices.
“Cumming before I even got the chance to put it in…” The creep chuckles in her ear. “Rest assured, we’ll be finishing this in the evening.”
It’s her best orgasm yet, she thinks. She can’t even imagine how great it will feel when she’s actually cumming around the cock as it penetrates her… And luckily, it sounds like Furina won’t have to wait long to see.
For the first time since all of this has happened, Furina watches the clock closely at work, squirming in her seat like the thick cock is still sitting beneath her cunt. She spends her day very vividly imagining the protruding veins, the absurd girth humping against her all over again before sinking on in as the creep has so clearly threatened. She wills time to go faster so she and the creep who’s been assaulting her can get right back down to business. Something like guilt or shame sits still in her gut, but it doesn’t stop her gaze from flicking to the clock every two minutes.
“Good evening,” The creep greets Furina only briefly upon her boarding the train. The two simple words hold some sort of spark within them, some fuse that’s been begging to be lit. Furina can’t say she’s not similarly eager, but whilst she’s only waited a workday, it’s clear the familiar stranger has camped out for two long weeks and they’re burning to finally, properly stake their claim.
As such, much like this morning, they show little interest in patience or usual teasing, getting straight to business. Raven hands dip down to their typical spot, brushing panties aside and shoving two, three fingers inside Furina’s opening without preamble.
“Just as loose as I left you this morning,” They quip, the words low and casual as though Furina’s not even meant to hear them. They drag already slick digits from an eager, terribly prepared cunt and the sound of their zipper returns. Furina finds herself unable to breathe until the fateful cock’s rocking against her a second time.
This time, there’s no attempt to call for a condom. Last time proved such a call would be useless, but it’s also the last thing on Furina’s mind when the creep’s sliding into her at long, long last.
If fingers penetrating her was shocking for Furina, a cock this absurdly large disgracefully shoving inward and immediately bottoming out is like the world’s most brutal thunderstorm. Lightning might as well be crashing over Furina’s form, bending and contorting her as her belly bulges around the expected yet terribly sudden intrusion.
Of course, Furina’s previously acknowledged how very large this dick is, but having it actually push through her walls is something else entirely. She previously thought she’d been made into a sinful shell of herself, but in this moment, she recognizes just how very innocent she still was before this cock pierced her, cut her in half. Only now has she been truly deflowered, truly corrupted in a way no one could ever hope to repair.
The world around the pair melts away. Where Furina had, in low moments, previously forsaken the train’s crowd, she’s never just entirely lost awareness of them like she does now. There is no one, nothing around to hear her as she wails and whines and moans and groans. New and distant clicks of phone cameras are lost on her, her entire body lost as it works to try and adjust to such an absurdly sized penetration.
Any such adjustment period is cut short quickly. They begin pulling out, only leaving the tip inside Furina before ramming all the way back in. Their claws carve over lithe hips, and their teeth trace her neck. Their balls slam against Furina’s clit as she’s maneuvered and tilted to an odd angle, her top half bending forward somewhat.
The way this creep fucks her is similar to the way they toyed with her clit days prior. The thrusts are hard, intense, and they lack a clear rhythm. They fuck into her erratically, panting against her like they’re getting a rush from finally going through with this.
There’s no attempt to quiet Furina this time around. It’s like the beast behind her feels so bold, so proud within the aforementioned rush, that they want to show Furina off. They want everyone on this train to hear her moan like the total slut she’s been degraded down into. They want everyone to see her spill over their massive cock, the member hardly covered well as it thrusts beneath Furina’s tiny little skirt.
“Mmm… Please… Hah…” Furina moans much too openly, the train around her still hazy and bright and gone. She feels the creep’s thrusts growing more and more frantic, and she feels she must make at least one plea. One very reasonable plea, she would think. “Please don’t cum inside at least. Please?”
The plea in question is immediately laughed at. One hand leaves Furina’s hips, rising to her throat and clamping around it. Familiar claws leave shallow marks as Furina’s tugged up by her throat, leaving her choking and gagging and spitting up. Tears pile over, streaming over cheeks that’ve basically become forever wet and red by this point in the last two weeks.
“Oh, no. I’m afraid I can’t make any such promise,” The creep tells her, mouth back at her ear. The words are far, far too polite and diplomatic for the tone and actions accompanying them.
They let go of her throat, their talons trailing down towards the outward bulge they’ve formed in the woman’s stomach. Crudely, they caress the area like they’ve already cum inside, and now Furina’s expecting.
“After how long I’ve waited for this, I’m not leaving until I’ve filled you to the brim. Neither of us are leaving this train until you’re bearing my child.”
Furina’s blood runs cold. The whites of her eyes bulge alongside her violated stomach, long lashes flying up to tickle raised brows. Her own hand is thrown over her mouth this time.
She cannot believe she’s been so awfully naive a second time over. She cannot believe that even after drawing the conclusion that the creep would be penetrating her in this way, she didn’t consider the natural next step to come with that.
Of course a creep like this wouldn’t bother with pulling out. They’ve selfishly sought out their own pleasure this entire time, why would now be any different? Why would they stop short of getting Furina pregnant?
The world does not stop for this revelation, although for a moment it slows. When the creep tugs the hand off her mouth, everything comes back to focus. Everything.
Every pathetic moan surfacing from a struggling throat. Every hard, deep thrust within her, partially the few that threaten Furina’s fragile cervix. Every single set of eyes on this train pointed in her sole direction, every lens of a phone camera capturing the moment before she’s impregnated. Every laugh of a stranger, every laugh of her abuser.
Everything. Everything’s in vibrant, clear colors as the creep pushes deep inside her one last time, painting her insides a warm, warm white. Rope after rope fills Furina, to the point where one would think there’s no end in sight. Furina always assumed the creep was masturbating to her when they went home, but now, she wonders if they perhaps waited it out. She wonders if they’ve waited to cum for two whole weeks, and now they’re strategically spilling all they can within her, truly ensuring she gets pregnant.
Even as the creep pulls off of her and cum pours outward, Furina feels heavier than she’s ever felt. Though it’s far smaller than it was when the creep was within her, a slight bulge still sits over her belly. The creep… May have impregnated her after all.
The train halts. Cum streams from a used, abused cunt, marking her thighs and the train floors below as her squirt once did. People whisper all around, pointing at the display as Furina distantly adjusts her panties, letting the outpour from the creampie pool there instead. She whimpers and she trembles and she breaks, the rancid, husky voice nearing her ear again.
“Looks like we’ve reached my stop,” The creep — The father of her future child — tells her. “Take good care of my baby.”
As they leave, the gravity of the situation really hits Furina. She’s pregnant now, she’s sure of it even without any sort of test… And the father is some creep on her train she’s never even been brave enough to face head on. She doesn’t even know what this creep looks like!
That night, as Furina drags herself home with a heavier stomach, she thinks this is all her fault. She all but encouraged this behavior, didn’t she? She even dared to enjoy it at some points! Her fingers hang off the hem of the short skirt she’s ashamed to have ever purchased, and she heads to her shower in a straight line.
She takes two thousand showers, the water scalding. She burns the skirt just outside her apartment complex. She calls off work. She wonders why fate would be this cruel. She weeps for the young mother she’s about to become, and she curses the faceless father only half as much as she curses herself.