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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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- This story is part of the Used and Abused Tournament
- It competes against The Trial of Khloe Thompson in the QF-1 match
- Theme: Boys will be boys
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Mother Knows Best
“Are you staying regular with your pills?” I answered her in the affirmative. By now, I had learned to greystone anytime my mother asked me that question. Even now that I had a professional, big girl job straight out of college, along with my own money and my own apartment, she still treated me like an incorrigible teen who could get pregnant just by being in the vicinity of someone of the male sex. As soon as I started ovulating, she felt it important to drag me to Family Planning and get me on birth control as soon as possible. She always said it was for “my protection.” Personally, I thought it was just to put dad's mind at ease and assuage the fear that his darling little angel may come home one day all knocked up.
“You're not working too hard, are you?” she asked on the other end of the phone.
Looking at the clock—6:37 p.m.—I bit my lip before responding. For the third night in a row, I had found myself in the office after business hours again. It was a small price to ingratiate myself to the partners in the firm. I had put myself on the three-year trajectory. After one more promotion, I planned to enroll in a flex MBA program and then start fast tracking my way toward management. My mom was always worried that I was being exploited, but she just didn't understand modern careers in which young professionals were expected to work beyond the typical nine-to-five.
“No, mom. But I do need to wrap up some of these expense reports. Tomorrow's Friday, so I promise I won't go too hard for the rest of the week.” I ended the call with a still skeptical mother who admonished me to stay on well-lit streets on the way home. Part of the allure of living in the city was its robust public transportation. The idea of not needing a car with its related expenses appealed to me, and I had become quite well accustomed to take the monorail, subway, and buses that connected the various neighborhoods.
A half hour later, I had finished the reports and I was out the door of the office building. After a five minute walk down the street, I reached the subway station. It was just a matter of taking the J Train to 35th Street, getting off and waiting on the platform for about seven minutes, and then grabbing the Green Dot train to Fresno Avenue. After another five minute walk, I'd be back at my complex.
The J Train leg of the trip home was uneventful. The car I was in was full, but I luckily had a seat. Standing on the far end platform for the Green Dot, I noticed three men looking over my direction. As soon as my eyes met theirs, they turned away into a huddle among each other. I felt my pulse rise ever so slightly. A certain womanly intuition kicked in that catalyzed my alert levels. I looked back at the men on the platform, who now seemed to be busy in some sort of other discussion. I noted that they appeared to be somewhere in their 20s.
I soon heard the low vibration further down the tunnel—the unofficial announcement that the Green Dot was approaching. The silver cars zoomed passed, slowing down for the station. The brakes ground, halting the train. I waited the obligatory two seconds for the doors to open and cleared a way for those exiting at the 35th Street station. Walking through the doors, I caught sight of the group of men who had been looking toward me as they entered three cars further down the train. “Good,” I thought. Although I didn't suspect them of engaging in anything particularly troubling, knowing the group would be in a car in another part of the train gave me a sense of relief.
The prerecorded voice came across the PA as I entered the last car: “You are on an east-bound train. The next stop in approximately 10 minutes will be...the 7th Street Bridge.” I took a seat at a side-facing bench. I quickly noticed that the last car was sparsely populated: only a businessman reading the Wall Street Journal and a middle-aged woman with who I assume were her two children. It wasn't unusual for the Green Dot to be relatively empty during this time on Thursday, but riding the subway has taught me to always be conscious of my surroundings. To pass the time, I pulled my phone from my purse and started reading a blog piece on best international vacations on a budget.
After 5 minutes, I heard the swish of the vestibule door open. My eyes peered up. My heart jumped. I saw the three men from the platform stroll into the car. There was a certain kind of nonplussed confidence to them that I found unsettling, as if they were apex predators and the city were a kingdom they saw as their birthright. My eyes returned to the phone screen while I maintained my wits. My normal stop was just after the next. I could get off at the next stop, but I was unfamiliar with that part of the city. If the men got off as well, I'd certainly look like a lost gazelle, easily picked off. I was probably overreacting. The men gave me the creeps, but giving me the creeps certainly doesn't mean that something bad is going to happen. The men took seats near the front of the car.
“Approaching ...7th Street Bridge. Please check that you have all of your belongings and wait for the doors to open before exiting the train.” The voice over the PA with its synthetic diction seemed especially irritating this evening.
I felt the train slow as the dark tunnel walls gave way to the light of the 7th Street Bridge station. The train stopped, the doors opened. My heart felt a sense of relief as I saw one of the men stand up and begin walking down the aisle. “This must be their stop!” I thought.
...but he didn't go out a door. Instead, he just walked past me and sat down at a bench at the other end of the car. Tension once again rose in my body, which gave way to pure fear as I watched the businessman and the mother and children exit the car. Nobody got in the car. I was alone with the three men. I felt the jerk of the train signaling its departure.
“You are on an east-bound train. The next stop in approximately 13 minutes will be...Fresno Avenue.”
From the corner of my eye I saw one of the men rise from his seat and begin walking down the aisle. I stayed focus on my phone screen, trying not to show fear much like how I read one should do when confronted with a dangerous animal. I sensed him stop right before reaching me.
“Whatcha' reading?” he asked, sitting down next to me on the bench. I felt sweat begin to form along my arms. My heart beat faster. I purposely didn't make eye contact, but I could tell he was stout. Overall he looked low class, but certainly took care of himself, either working out in a gym on a regular basis or had employment that required strenuous physical activity.
“I asked you: whatcha reading?”
“Just a blog,” hoping that my curt response would communicate my desire to be left alone. I worried, however, that it was not my desires that were of interest at that moment. The sound of steps reverberated through the train car. Looking up ever so slight, I saw the other two men had risen from their seats and were blocking the aisle at either direction.
The man's hand reached out and snatched the phone from my hands. “You don't seem real talkative and too many people are tied to their phones, anyways.”
I felt myself shiver in fear, my eyes now forced to look at the men in the car. The other two began closing in.
“What's you say we have a little bit of fun here before the next stop?”
Fight or flight overtook. I leapt up and ran. If I could make it to the vestibule door and get into the next car, I would surely be safe. There had to be passengers in there. I heard a chuckle from the man on the bench but he didn't pursue—something to which I didn't give much thought at the moment. The man blocking the aisle was just as large as the one on the bench. “Adrenaline, don't fail me now,” I prayed to myself.
But it felt like hitting a fleshy wall. The man grabbed me, blocking my exit. I tried to spin around. I even threw a (pathetic) punch or two, which were as ineffectual and trying to fist fight in a dream.
“Oh, you're not going anywhere right now, lil' missy,” the second man mocked. With a shove, I found myself pushed into the third assailant, a less buff but equally strong Black man. I tried to escape his grip but that only made propelling me into the arms of the first man—now standing—all the easier. He then shoved me back to the arms of the second man. Back and forth they pushed me, as if playing a sinister game of keep-away.
Finally, I landed in the arms of the first man, his hands gripping either side of my light chambray blouse. He had a sneering smile that burned into the core of my being. The second man pressed up against me. “Oh gawd...he's hard!” I thought to myself. I could feel the second one's manhood—his need—pushed up against the tight khaki skirt enclosing my derriere. A gasp escaped my lips as his hands reached around and began stroking my hips, then down to my upper thighs.
I recounted how the situation had devolved to this point. If only had been in a more busy train car. And now...now I was going to be...raped...fucked like a dumb helpless girl who didn't have enough sense to watch out for herself in the big city. How much time had passed since the last stop? Two minutes? That was 11 minutes these men could have their way with me before the next station.
It's very good except for some narration whiplashes when the description becomes technical-cum 
-euphemistic.
