Zoey Pearson wondered if she might have made a mistake traveling home late in the evening when she felt someone's hand caress the cheeks of her buttocks, barely covered by the little pleated skirt she was wearing, as she was standing in the middle of a crowd of people on the London Underground. There was nothing furtive about the gesture, and Zoey knew the man who did it (she assumed it was a man but it could easily have been a woman) was about to slide his hand between her legs if she hadn't whirled round in surprise and shock, unable to spot who the mystery groper was before the train suddenly stopped and people pushed past her, moving quickly, their expressions set.
Two stops later Zoey got off and made her way up the elevator to the main line station. She heaved a sigh of relief when she saw her train was waiting and found a seat in a well-lit compartment. She rummaged through her leather mini-backpack for the packet of tissues and small bottle of water she always carried, poured water onto the tissue and used it to cool her neck and the slopes of her breasts exposed by the low-necked cotton top she was wearing. She had debated whether to wear skimpy clothes before she set out but decided summer in the city would mean heat and dirt so the less she wore the better.
Zoey checked her phone and then scanned the compartment to see if anyone had left a newspaper lying around. They had and she picked it up, settled into her seat again and thought how wonderful it had been to celebrate her 21st birthday with her friends from school and how their lives had changed from the hopes and dreams they'd had when they were together.
It had been a great girl's night out, full of laughter, shrieked reminiscences, enjoyable food and a great many cocktails. All the girls screamed 'Lezzas, lezzas!' when Zoey and her BFF Michelle kissed goodbye standing in the street waiting for Michelle's taxi, their arms round each other, their tongues intertwined. Afterward Zoey walked to the nearest Tube station, looking forward to getting home, taking a quick shower and then sleeping in until late the next morning.
Still buzzed from the alcohol, Zoey started reading the paper's celebrity gossip page and it was only when the driver announced the train's doors were closing that she looked up and saw two men had sat down in the seat across from her. She wouldn't have cared but the rest of the carriage was empty and yet they'd chosen to sit opposite and Zoey drew in her legs and pulled her short skirt down. Suddenly she wished she had worn a bra, especially as kissing Michelle had brought back a great many memories of the two of them making love together and Zoey was still extremely aroused, her nipples hard against the material of her top.
Zoey chanced a quick glance at the two men. They were smartly dressed in suits, their ties undone. Listening to them talk in low voices about the state of the money markets, seeing their expensive briefcases and coats, Zoey guessed they worked in the city which she found reassuring because they would have well-paid jobs they wouldn't want to jeopardize by harassing her. The men had probably been to a bar before catching the last train home and Zoey would have relaxed except the man with blond hair, on the left, was staring at her breasts and the other one was staring at the smooth expanse of her thigh exposed by her short, pleated skirt. Determined not to feel intimidated, Zoey buried her head in the paper she was holding, her heart beating in her chest.
"Excuse me, is that seat taken?" the man on the right suddenly asked, indicating the place next to Zoey. "I hate traveling backwards."
Zoey was about to lie and say it was, her boyfriend was joining her, when the guy immediately moved and sat down. The guy on the left took his friend's vacant seat and Zoey realized the two men could check in both directions to see if anyone was coming.
Zoey knew she was acting irrationally but she felt light-headed with fear. She tried to rationalize the men's actions as innocent but she instinctively knew, from the way they stopped talking about gold movements and the dollar-pound exchange rate, that she was now the center of attention.
"Hot, isn't it?" the man opposite said as he pulled his tie off.
"Mmm, yes," Zoey said in a disinterested voice. She looked back down at the newspaper, trying to act nonchalantly.
"You look nice and cool," the man to her right said.
Zoey didn't respond.
"A lovely short skirt, thin top, no bra. Cool
and
sexy."
Zoey went on the attack.
"Sorry?" she said, her voice angry.
"N-i-c-e skirt," the man said slowly, as if she were retarded. Then, making Zoey jump, he reached over into her lap and flicked the hem up an inch or so, revealing more of her thighs.
"Get your fucking hands off me," Zoey snarled.
"God, Piers," the man opposite said. "You can take the woman out of the gutter, but you can't take the gutter out of the woman..."
"Too right, Toby," the man next to her said and Zoey felt sick. If these men didn't care if they used their names, real or fake, then sexual harassment was the least of her worries.
"Think she's a working girl, Toby?" the man named Piers said.
"I don't know," the man next to her said. "Let's ask her. Excuse me, miss, are you a prostitute? If my friend were to flash his wallet would you be willing to get down on your knees and give him the finest blowjob money can buy?"
Zoey stood up. "You're drunk," she said, grabbing her bag and trying to move to another seat in the carriage.
The man named Toby grabbed her wrist, gripping it hard.
"No, I'm not," he said in a low, menacing voice. "I'm horny, just like my friend Piers, and we fancy a fuck. With you. Are you up for it? Both at the same time, preferably, one in your cunt and one in your ass. We'd make you scream with pleasure without a doubt..."
Zoey stared at the man who nodded his head at his friend. She glanced across and saw Piers had unzipped his flies to expose his big, fully erect cock. The head was throbbing, a drop of precum oozing from the tip showing he was highly aroused. He reached up and took hold of Zoey's free wrist and pulled her down, forcing her to close her fingers round the shaft.
"That feels nice," the man said, and Zoey realized that, of the two, Piers had drunk more or he would never have let his guard down. All she had to do was punch downward and he would be writhing in agony on the carriage floor. But was it worth it? What might Toby do?
Held captive between the two men, Zoey was powerless to resist when Toby ran his hand up under her skirt and stroked his fingers between the lips of her bare pussy. She cursed herself for being aroused after kissing Michelle because Toby let out a soft whistle of delight when his index finger slid effortlessly between her pussylips and found they were slippery with her cream.
In other circumstances, Zoey might have enjoyed being finger-fucked but now tears sprang to her eyes. She felt violated and hated that her happy night out with her friends had gone so badly wrong.
Toby was concentrating on stroking her clit, Piers on Zoey's fingers stroking his cock. Zoey was close to hyper-ventilating, frightened about what might happen in the empty compartment when a man's voice from behind her made her scream with shock and surprise.
"Is this a private party, gentlemen. or are you committing sexual assault?"
Zoey whirled round and found a tall, muscular black man standing there, a warrant card in his hand. His photo and the words 'Metropolitan Police' were clearly displayed. Instantly, the men released Zoey's wrists, Toby's hand shot from between her legs and Piers stood up, fumbling with his flies to hide his erect prick.
"We were just being friendly, officer," Toby said, his voice showing his panic he could be arrested.
