Author's Note:
Hey readers,
This is my very first story on Literotica. It's a slow burnâbut soaked in lust and layered with depth. It's not just about Divya's transformation, but also the unapologetic past that shaped her into the woman who'll soon take on 48 strangers in a moving train in pubicâwithout fear, shame, and still craving more.
Every scene is here for a reason. So read till the end. Trust meâit'll be worth every second.
If you enjoy it, please rate and comment. That's how stories like this survive.
- Anjali
. I've never published anything before, but trust me, I've lived a life dripping with filthy confessions and slutty, cock-stuffed memoriesâeach one dirtier than the last, and trust me, I'm aching to spill every single one and leave you begging for more. For now, enjoy my first fictional pieceâone that's soaked in the kind of filthy, gangbang-fueled fantasies that leave me moaning, legs spread, and fingers buried deep, wishing it all were real. The story follows Divya, but every nasty little scene comes straight from my own raw, aching desires. Reality may hold me back for now, but fiction lets me be the cum-drenched, cock-hungry slut I truly am. So enjoy this filthy ride... and don't worry, my real-life slut stories are cumming soonâhard, messy, and unfiltered
Divya was a slutâand she knew it. She didn't need to say the word out loud. Her body said it. Her walk said it. Her wardrobe screamed it. Every outfit she wore was a calculated invitation. Her tops were always a size too tight or too small, hugging her 36e tits like they were gift-wrapped for the next pair of hungry eyes. She never wore a bra unless absolutely forcedâjust enough bounce to keep men guessing where to look. Not since her breast lift six months into marriageâ38DD and sitting high, courtesy of Pankaj's deep pockets and her own filthy intentions. Her skirts were short, dangerously short, barely covering her ass when she bent overâbecause that's exactly what she wanted. And her sarees? Pure sin in six yards. Always sheer. Always draped low, the pallu pinned just enough to flash deep, jiggling cleavage with every step. Backless blouses, deep cuts, thin strapsâcleavage was a necessity, not an option.
Divya didn't just dress sexy. She dressed like she needed to be stared at. Like the world was her mirror and every man was part of the fantasy.
Her figure only added fuel to that fireâ
38DD-28-38
, soft in all the right placessculpted by regular hours at the gym, tight where it mattered, soft where it counted. She didn't hide her body. She framed it. And she knew exactly what it did to the men around her.
And it worked. The stares, the murmurs, the hard cocks hiding behind newspapersâthey didn't embarrass her. They fed her. She called herself a free spirit, but the truth was filthier. She didn't want freedomâshe wanted submission. Use. Heat. Shame. Her dirtiest fantasy? A public gangbang. Dozens of cocks. No names. No limits. Just her, cum dripping, ruined, and fully seen. She touched herself to that thought almost every night... sometimes twice.
Her husband, Pankaj, knew she'd been "easy" back in collegeâor at least, that's what the rumors said. But he never heard the real stories. The truth wasn't just wildâit was
filthy
. Divya wasn't the girl who flirted at parties; she was the one caught sucking cock behind them. Boys talked about her like a legendâone you hoped to experience, but never expected to keep. And yet, Pankaj married her anyway. He liked bold, sexy girlsâtight clothes, loud energy, curves that turned rooms quiet. But he had no idea how deep that boldness ran in Divya. He thought he was marrying a confident woman. He didn't realize he was marrying a cock-hungry slut who'd taken more men than she could countâand still came home smiling, playing the perfect wife like nothing had ever happened.
She was a little chubby, sure, but her curves were sculpted where it countedâhips built to bounce, tits that made heads turn, and an ass that never needed help being noticed. He loved her laugh, her bite, her don't-give-a-fuck attitude. But if he knew the kind of things she still did behind his back... he might've married her faster. Or not at all.
Because Divya hadn't changed.
Divya hadn't stopped taking cockâshe just got better at hiding it. Smarter. Selective. And the thrill only grew with the secrecy. Every time she dropped to her knees for someone else, she told herself it was just a release. Just her body. But deep down, she knew: she needed this. She needed to be watched, wanted, used. Needed to be
owned
âjust not by one man.
She wasn't cheating.
She was just being herself
She used every opportunity to tease, to seduceâwhether it was bending just a little extra in the kitchen when her brother-in-law passed by, or letting the neighbours get a peek down her blouse as she watered the plants. She had to be careful now. Living with her in-laws meant keeping the slut in check, at least on the surface. They never commented on her sarees or dress choicesâtoo scared, too politeâbut their eyes said it all. Still, caution was necessary. Pankaj was rich. Very rich. And Divya had no plans of going back to work. Playing the perfect wife under his roof meant she had to be discreet with her filth, but it didn't mean she had to stop. Behind that pallu, she was still the same cock-hungry girl from collegeâjust smarter about hiding it.
The day had finally comeâI had a train to catch. The Guwahati-Mumbai LTT Express. Originally, I had booked a flight, but thanks to the devastating Assam floods in June 2022, the airport was shut down. I could've been annoyed, but instead, I smiled to myself and thoughtâwhy not a train journey? It had been forever since I last traveled by train, and this was going to be a long one. A full 49 hours of travel. Nearly two full days on rails.
While booking my ticket in a rush, I had accidentally selected "male" under the gender option. I didn't even notice until the confirmation hit my inbox. It made me chuckle, but then I realized I was traveling aloneâand in 3AC class, the only one available when I booked. Just in case it raised questions, I asked Pankaj what to do. He was as casual as everâ"Just inform the station master when you get there, it won't be a problem." Easy for him to sayâhe wasn't the one stepping into a 3AC coach full of strangers with 'M' printed on her ticket, a clingy white sundress hugging her hips, and just enough cleavage showing to keep every pair of eyes exactly where I wanted them. Still, I figured I'd swing by and speak to the station staff once I arrivedâbetter safe than sorry..
I'd never spent more than one night on a train beforeâjust those quick college trips from Nagpur to Pune, or a family ride here and there before marriage. Always with someone. Always behaving. My train journeys had rules. Eyes down. Legs crossed. Saree pinned tight. Because I was never alone.
But this time?
Forty-nine hours. Alone. Unchecked.
No husband. No in-laws. No one watching my every move. And suddenly, I wasn't just boarding a trainâI was
releasing
something.