Everyone knows that on a crowded train, one often encounters those perverted creeps. I have certainly been a victim myself. Though I am not exceptionally beautiful, I always attract attention from men when walking down the street. For some reason, even though my figure isn't particularly striking—standing only five-foot-three with measurements of 34-23-33—perhaps it is just enough to fuel a man's sexual fantasies.

It takes nearly an hour by train to get home, and there is no way to escape the terrifying atmosphere of the commute; one can only try to keep as much distance from others as possible. Every time I enter a carriage, I clutch my small handbag against my chest to prevent my breasts from pressing directly against someone else's torso, but even that isn't a foolproof defense. When my hands are occupied guarding my chest, my lower half is left vulnerable, providing frequent opportunities for predators to slip in.

I remember one particular time when I was wearing a short skirt. The ride home was quite dull, so as is my habit, my eyes wandered around as if looking for something to admire. In reality, I didn't know where to settle my gaze; since one is often standing face-to-face with a stranger, avoiding the awkwardness of prolonged eye contact means you have no choice but to stare at the route maps.

It was then that a sudden coolness brushed against my thigh. At first, I didn't think much of it. But soon, the sensation of the cool air became intense. Keeping my eyes fixed on the route map, my mind focused entirely on my leg, only to realize that the coolness was caused by a hand teasing the hem of my skirt upward.

His fingers were scratching and stroking my thigh. I didn't dare make a sound; though the feeling of being violated was overwhelming, I was too afraid to scream and draw the eyes of everyone around us. My only choice was to pretend nothing was happening and continue staring at the map.

His hand did not stop there. Where he had been teasing me with his fingertips, he now gripped my entire thigh, sliding his palm up and down. His movements grew faster and more ambitious, creeping higher. His fingers wandered along my inner thigh, occasionally and "accidentally" brushing against the lace edge of my panties.

The sensation made me feel restless and uneasy, but I had to maintain my composure, acting as if everything were normal. He, too, acted as if nothing were happening, as if no one else were there, even as his fingers began to probe at my vulva. Though he was still working through the fabric of my panties, the pressure caused my body to shudder.

This sudden movement nearly made me cry out. In truth, he had already worked me into a state of arousal, making me leak. He could surely feel the moisture between my legs, so he took the initiative to hook his finger under the lace of my panties, pulling them aside to let his fingers play directly against my labia. He pinched my clitoris, alternating between light, delicate touches and heavy, firm squeezes, causing my juices to flow even more incessantly. He was now using three fingers to knead and tease me, and I sensed he was contemplating whether to push deeper into my core.

The sensation was maddeningly itchy, and a part of me desperately wanted him to fill the emptiness inside me. I was no longer a virgin, but this was a subway car, after all, and he was a total stranger.

Just as that thought crossed my mind, he thrust his fingers forcefully into my slit. *Oh!* My private parts were filled, providing a sudden, intense sense of satisfaction that quelled the emptiness. This intrusion caused my nectar to pour out even more heavily; it must have soaked his hand. Perhaps because of the lubrication, his fingers could slide in and out with even greater ease, so he pushed all three fingers deep into my soaking flower. I couldn't help but let out a low moan. Fortunately, the noise of the crowded train masked it; otherwise, the embarrassment would have been unbearable.

As the train swayed, his movements became faster and more forceful. He pressed his body against my backside, and through my panties, I could feel the heat radiating from him. His manhood was so hard it felt as though it could pierce through a wooden plank. He ground his rigid length against my buttocks while his fingers continued to thrust relentlessly inside my wet heat.

By this point, the excitement was so intense that my breasts felt empty, aching to be touched. Instinctively, my hips began to sway in response to him. He thrust his pelvis forward, pressing his rod even tighter against my rear. With every lunge of his hips, his fingers plunged deeper into my vulva. The constant friction of his three fingers inside my wet canal was almost more than a woman could bear, yet I still couldn't find the voice to scream.

My breasts, swollen with arousal, stood high and firm, as if inviting a touch. Luckily, I had my hands and my handbag positioned to shield them, so no one could see. Using my own hands, I began to caress my breasts.

Suddenly, he withdrew his fingers. Just as I began to catch my breath, he thrust all five of his fingers deep inside me at once. *Wah!* Another moan escaped my lips. His five fingers swirled and churned within my depths, driving him to rub his hardness against me even more feverishly. To my senses, his cock felt at least eight inches long. *Oh, if something that large truly entered my core, what would become of me?*

He drove me through wave after wave of climax. "Mm... ah..." I whimpered softly, trying my best to keep the sounds low. In truth, someone might have noticed, but in a crowd like this, people usually mind their own business.

His fingers continued their rhythmic thrusting, and his pelvis hammered against my fleshy buttocks. I hit another peak, and unable to help myself, I gripped my breasts hard. Perhaps because the pleasure was so overwhelming, my movements became exaggerated, and I accidentally bumped into a man standing right next to me. He glared at me, looking as if he knew exactly what was happening. He kept glancing toward my chest; even though my handbag shielded my modest 34-inch bust, there was a small gap that allowed him to see my breasts heaving up and down as they labored for breath. He didn't look away; instead, he leaned his head closer to my face, occasionally licking his lips.

Being sandwiched between two men made it difficult to breathe. Perhaps seeing the other man's interest emboldened him, his animalistic nature surged. He began to scratch the walls of my vagina with his fingernails, a sensation that brought a sharp, stinging sting of pleasure-pain, causing my breathing to grow even more ragged.

I was certain the man standing beside me could feel the warmth of my breath, and I suspected it only excited him more, for I could feel the warmth of his breath on me as well. Fortunately, he reached his stop quickly; otherwise, I feared he might join the other man in taking advantage of me.

Once he left, I closed my eyes to savor the pleasure, pressing my hands and handbag even tighter against my chest. After a while, his movements slowed, perhaps because they had been so frantic, and my climax began to recede. I suspected he had reached his own peak as well, as he slowly pulled his body away and withdrew his fingers. The bastard, as he pulled his hand out, made sure to give my clitoris one final, heavy squeeze, sending one last jolt of excitement through me. Though it felt wonderful and brought me to one last peak, the situation remained deeply embarrassing.

Just as his fingers completely left my wet core, I turned my head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man. He was a well-dressed, sophisticated-looking young man, perhaps in his early twenties, who was looking back at me with a lewd, satisfied smirk. I stared at him, unsure of how to react.

The train pulled into a station, and he turned to step off the carriage.

I watched him leave in a daze. It wasn't until the train began to move again that I snapped back to reality, still feeling the wetness of my arousal trickling down my thighs. All I wanted was to get home quickly and clean up the lingering excitement left behind by this unexpected encounter.