The Five Finger Express

He woke up late, cut himself shaving and burnt his toast. On the way to the station he tripped on a kerb and fell, while other commuters rushed on either side of him, in too much of a rush to stop and laugh let alone help him up.

Worst of all he'd run out of coffee at home without realising it. Carl Hurst was having a stereotypically bad morning.

At the station he found that he'd somehow got himself there ten minutes before his train was due to leave. So he joined the queue of slouching addicts at the one coffee booth on the concourse, each and every one of them still rubbing their red-rimmed eyes or badly-shaven jaws. Carl yawned, contemplated his gut and tried to remember what he had to do at work today. Nothing interesting.

The coffee took longer to obtain than he thought, so he found himself half-running, trying not to spill his coffee, through the station to get to his platform. The double-cupped beverage seemed to be burning its way out through the sides where he held it, and when he wasn't concentration the scalding liquid seeped out of the plastic cap and seared his fingers. Shit, which platform was it?

Then he dropped the coffee.

- - -

Carl thought, for the millionth time, that living three stops from the train terminus and ten from the city centre was probably the worst possible place to live. The seats had already filled up, so every day he had to stand, but there was still a forty five minute journey ahead of him that he had to stay rocking on his aching legs for. And when a seat became available he couldn't bring himself to take it - there was always some elderly lady to smile at and wave into it. No of course I don't mind you old bag, take a load off!

And every day as more and more people piled onto the train at every stop he would get pushed further and further along the carriage, getting crushed against the door at the end that led to the next car.

So it was today, that after only two stops he found that he had been shuffled all the way to the end, so that his shoulder was resting against the corner of the carriage doorway. At least he wouldn't have to hang ape-like from the dangling handles - he could rest his weight against the rounded fibreglass wall of the train and relax a little more that way.

Glancing around he took the contents of the car in briefly. Suits, suits and more suits. Men and women, young and old; no one he recognised, no one from his office. A sea of faces, heads, arms and shoulders. Carl wasn't all that tall so he had no kind of vantage point, and the occupants lucky enough to get a seat were completely invisible to him. God, it was even busier today than normal.

He turned his back to the carriage and leaned against the shallow doorframe, looking out of the window into the next carriage. Things there were no better, but at least the girl in the doorway opposite him had space to get her book out of her bag. He had a book but getting it out would involve elbows and shoving and he was just too polite.

He risked spending a few moments looking at the young woman facing him, only a few feet away, but lost in her book and completely oblivious to his existence. If they'd been right next to each other it would probably be the same though - she was so pretty and he... well he was just a nerdy-looking loser, getting paunchier every month.

He watched as she licked her finger, a totally unselfconscious movement, and used the wet tip to turn the page of her book. Her mousy hair was tied up in a knot at the back of her head and she was wearing a long, stylish, fitted houndstooth coat that accentuated her slim frame. Carl sighed - another ideal girlfriend that he had no chance with at all.

At the next station, incredibly, more people forced their way on and Carl, fighting to keep enough room to breathe, felt bodies and elbows and shoulders pushing against him until the doors bleeped closed and he found himself well and truly sardined.

Oh this was going to be a joy.

It was just after this happy thought that he felt the body behind him shift, and the pressure of two soft shapes being squashed against his back. For a moment he didn't think anything of it, but then with a start he realised what was happening. Some poor woman was being forced by the crush to come up right behind him - she was probably as utterly trapped as he was. And her breasts - and now by the feel of it most of her body - was being forced into him.

Carl blushed, he was a typically geeky guy and close, personal dealings with members of the opposite sex put him on edge, no matter how inadvertent or accidental they may be. He found himself paralysed by a spiralling nightmare scenario in which the woman behind him thought he was a depraved monster, grinding himself against her. She screamed, the other passengers restrained him and he was dragged from the train by the cops at the next station.

It was unlikely, but this was still more than a little awkward. He shifted forward - as close to the door as he could while still retaining enough room to breathe and not feel like he was going to die - but of course that didn't work. The population of the carriage took the extra few inches he'd found and expanded to fill it. The woman ended up pinned against him even harder.

She seemed to be about his height, a little shorter perhaps and even with the other people pressed around him - a large, grey haired gent was leaning on his arm slightly and partially pinning him to the wall - she seemed to be very, very tightly pressed to him. He could feel her right thigh too, hard and hot against the back of his right leg. The mass of humanity shifted, and for a moment she was almost spooning him, her pelvis thrust forward against his ass, her breasts squashed even harder against his back. He had to say something.

He craned his neck to the right, trying to see over his shoulder, to catch her eye and apologise, but he couldn't see her. Just a hundred red, sweating, fuming faces, trapped in this human cattle-car with him. Shoulders and necks and arms, but he couldn't turn enough to see his... his 'dance partner'.

He turned the other way, peering over his left shoulder, but his field of vision there was much more limited, mostly filled by the doorframe he was squashed into. But this side he could see, at the very edge of his vision, a slight blur of red hair - the woman! Maybe she was leaning her head that way slightly. Carl decided to risk it.

"Ah, excuse me. Sorry about the... um... pushing. Pushing into you, I mean - I'm not trying to push... it's just... ah..." Carl was rarely eloquent, but his apology was plumbing new depths. It was greeted by silence, and he guessed that either she hadn't heard, or that she was so mortified by the whole thing that she had nothing to say. He turned back to the window and looked at the faint reflection of his blushing face, embarrassment written in bold all over it.

"Oh, that's ok," the sudden response would have made him jump, were he not being pinned side on against the door frame. The sentence was expressed so close to his left ear, and so softly, that it must have been audible only to him. "It's not your fault, after all." Carl blushed, with relief this time, and smiled. The voice was young, but low and slightly hoarse. When he turned his head again, he caught the scent of some flavoured tobacco, but the face of the girl remained tantalisingly out of sight.

"Thanks," he said, not trusting him to say anything else without making a complete fool of himself.

"No, thank you!" the voice rose slightly into a purr of amusement and Carl felt its owner shift against him. Woah! She was hard against him now, there was barely an inch of his back that the heat of her body was not pressed against. From the soft curve of her breasts, to the firm bone of her pelvis - it felt like she was going to burn through the thin material of Carl's shirt and suit. The train was hot, but she was hotter. Thank him? Why?

Carl wasn't exactly approaching 40-Year-Old-Virgin territory, but it had been a few years since he'd been this close to a woman, and he felt his pulse start to quicken. Should he say something else? What did that mean? His instinct was to just ignore it and play dumb, and he looked straight ahead, swallowing nervously. But straight ahead was the slight reflection of his face, contorted into a comical mask of worry, and he couldn't look at that so he looked again into the next carriage. Yet that was even worse because he immediately saw that cute girl in the houndstooth coat and felt his pulse quicken even more.

"Oh, you're shy? You don't want to know why I'm thanking you?" the voice was suddenly back at his ear, and this time so close that he could feel the girl's hot breath tickling his lobe. "I'm thanking you," she continued, her voice sweet but far from innocent, like the best operators on those phone-sex lines he used to call, "because although you don't look like much, you have such a nice, tight ass."

Carl froze. What the hell had she just said? Had she said he had a nice ass? He wanted to turn around, to shift himself in the pack of bodies and face this mystery woman, but she was so close, her face so near his ear, that he would immediately be wrestling with her to do so.

"It's nice to be squished up against such a cute butt," she continued, and Carl could feel her cute, perfect diction - the sharp breath of every 'T' hitting his sensitive ear and adding to the fugue of confusion that was shrouding him. "I mean, sometimes you can be trapped against some flabby old man with a sagging ass... ugh. I much prefer a young, tight ass to... you know, grind against."

And suddenly she was doing exactly that, moving her hips as much as she could in the packed carriage to grind her pelvis against his defenceless backside. Carl couldn't breathe, his throat was tight and inches from his nose his reflection showed a man in a state of shock. And naturally, down in the light material of his suit pants, he felt his prick getting hotter and heavier as it filled with blood. Fuck! What the hell was going on?

Suddenly she leaned away and the pressure on him diminished. Was she done? Done teasing him? Carl swallowed again, watching his adam's apple bob in the window. He didn't know whether he wanted this whole mortifying trip to be over, or for her to continue. Her voice was... so goddamn hot!

But clearly she wasn't finished with him yet as he felt her hand now, fingers spread, pushed firmly into his left ass-cheek. She grabbed a hold of his cheek and squeezed it forcefully, getting a good feel of it this time. God, he was being... groped on the train! What kind of Twilight Zone had he stumbled into this morning? She cupped and squeezed and massaged it again and again; working strong, demanding fingers into the meat of his rear - as if appraising livestock. His dick lengthened, responding to this despite his fear.

"Yeah, just what I thought. That's a delightful ass you've got there." Could anyone else in the carriage see this? See what she was doing to him? He was paranoid, but he had to think that probably they couldn't. Through the forest of heads and limbs they must be almost invisible at this end of the carriage. Christ, she could do whatever she wanted to him! "You used to do sports right?" Carl didn't answer, didn't know whether he should. "When I ask you a question just nod or shake your head a little to answer, ok?" Carl nodded. In the window he tried to catch the reflection of the girl's face behind him, but there was only a silhouette, a curl of hair.

She shifted her weight slightly, her tits still hard against his back, her chin now on his shoulder for a second and then her right hand on his right cheek, giving it the same rough mauling that she had given the left one. His balls bobbed between his legs; he was getting harder and harder. Was she trying to get him hard so that when he got off he'd be humiliated - sporting a massive boner through his suit pants?

"A cute ass, and you're not bad looking either," the predatory purr of a big cat, sizing up it's meal, "You're letting yourself go a little though, and those glasses and that hair? Terrible idea. Your suit is a horrible fit too, look at all this loose fabric," the girl yanked at the back of his pants, pulling them away from his ass. Then, just as quickly, she brought her hand back again and jammed the bunched fabric between his cheeks with a pointed finger.

Carl couldn't help jumping this time. Not only was she jabbing at his ass in a very... intrusive way, but bunching the cloth of his pants up like that dragged his balls back under his body and bent his thickening cock in a way that turned him on even more. She released him after a moment, but he knew his ordeal was far from over.

"But, y'know..." he wanted to turn her head and tell her to stop, but he couldn't move his neck, let alone his tongue. In a way this was a wet dream come true (in fact, he wasn't sure he wasn't still dreaming all this still) but Carl wasn't an adventurous guy - he'd rather his fantasies stayed in his head and his daily life continued in as seemly a way as possible. The girl's left hand was back, gently squeezing and stimulating his left cheek while her right hand, as he had feared it would, was slipping around his waist. "Y'know, girls are interested in more than butts."

Oh God, oh God, oh God. There it went, her clever little hand snaking it's way over his hip, touching his belt and then slipping into his suit pocket. She left his ass alone now, pushing herself against him full length again and bringing her other hand around to rest on his chest. He was painfully aware of her hand as it slipped, centimetre by centimetre over the trembling flesh of his thigh. And his traitorous prick, thickening more, trapped by his boxers but rising up to meet her.

He looked into the reflection in front of him, over his shoulder and back into the train. There were so many people, nothing but people, and none of them were noticing this! He could call for help, he could! But that would be... ludicrous! This girl is molesting me? Who would believe him? And besides, there was some part of him that was... accepting this, allowing it, wanting it.

"Good boy," the girl purred, resting her chin on his shoulder to wrap her arms around him, "just let me play with you a little. I promise I won't break anything!" She seemed to find that incredibly amusing, her cool, low voice breaking into a breathy giggle. The sound of the train, a little conversation, the tinny ring of headphones - they were all drowning out her voice to everyone except him.

Her hand explored his pocket, pushing down and across and sure enough, finding his fattening tool took her no time at all. And as she felt its shape, exploring it through his pocket and his underwear with the same commanding grip she had used on his ass, they both couldn't help but gasp.

"Wait..." the word was on Carl's lips, but he barely pushed it out. He didn't see how he had any hope of controlling this situation anymore. His eyes glanced frantically this way and that - could anyone see this? The old guy next to him? He seemed to be asleep, leaning against the other side of the doorframe. The girl in the next carriage? Still lost in her book, still cute as anything.

"Oh there it is!" there was a low chuckle that Carl only felt, through her chest into his, "And you don't disappoint there either!" Her fingers traced his shape and he felt her probing, coaxing his cock into a more and more swollen, turgid state. "A nice thick, curving shaft; a hard, hot, bulging head," every word that dropped from her pouting lips stoked his fire making him harder and harder. She was narrating her progress as her fingers dove down further. "And two big, heavy balls, just full of hot, sloppy come. Am I right?" Carl couldn't move. "Yes or no?" her voice had an edge, Carl knew he had to answer, he nodded sharply, blushing even harder to find that he had little control over his body now.

Her hand moved back from his balls to his shaft and started rubbing it now, half jerking him through two layers of fabric. Carl felt his heart in his chest, feeling bigger, beating harder. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, desperately willing himself not to release the groan of pleasure that wanted out of his lungs. His prick was so hard, and though his boxers were pretty tight it was out away from his thigh now, proud and demanding more attention. The girl - his attacker - seemed happy to oblige.

"Do you watch porn Mister?" she continued, pulling on his foreskin and dragging it down forcefully. He felt moisture and knew that his pre-cum was staining his underwear under her clever ministrations. He nodded though, scared not to answer. Her hand went up and down again, tugging on him maddeningly. "Do you have a girlfriend?" he paused, he wasn't sure why, before shaking his head, "Jerk off every day?" Again he paused, these questions were so personal, he was giving parts of himself away so cheaply. But then... he was the prey here, and he found it so easy now to just answer her questions and not put up a fight. He nodded. "Jerk off this morning?" he shook his head. He hadn't come last night either, he had been planning to squeeze one out tonight to a new DVD he had ordered. God, she could probably imagine even that - she had his number now.

She moved herself more to the right, so that she could reach around him more easily and thrust her arm even further into his pocket. He felt her tits squeezing and sliding sideways across his back a couple of inches and bit his lip. Oh God, he was getting dizzy; and while his brain was still stumbling and lurching around like a drunkard, his body knew exactly what it was doing - getting aroused and ready to fuck.

She could really curl her fingers around his solid shaft now, grabbing it through his clothes and squeezing tight. She slid her hand all the way up to his hot, bulging head and started to massage the back of it with her thumb. Carl managed to turn his groan into a cough as his prick jerked and twitched in her hand. It felt so good - if she wanted to make him come, to make him shoot his pathetic load and soil his underwear, there was nothing he could do to stop her. He had hands too, but they were useless, one tucked into his left pocket, the other hanging down dumbly. He couldn't use them to stop her, he wasn't strong enough, mentally.

"Good," her chin on his shoulder still, her words hot, melting into his ears, "I'll be the one making you come today, ok? Although you'll probably need to jerk off again once you get to work, won't you?" Carl swallowed, not realising she needed an answer. She squeezed his dick sharply and he flinched, nodding quickly afterwards. "You'll be sitting at your desk thinking about what happened to you on the train this morning, and your fat prick will get all hard again, won't it?" He nodded. "And then you'll have to get up, bent over so no one can see your bulging pants, and run to the bathroom to jerk your hot spunk out - thinking of me - won't you?" Carl squeezed his eyes shut, praying for a little control over the situation, but he nodded obediently again.

She started jerking him then. Before, her hand had been moving so slowly, just rubbing and massaging his thick shaft and the come-slick head of his member through the cloth of his garments. But now it gripped him and started to pump, pulling his sensitive foreskin up and then down, squeezing him tightly as it gripped the tip, and pulling down - almost too hard - as it got to the root. Carl started to breathe harder, trying to focus himself and keep some semblance of control, but the girl wouldn't shut up.

"Don't say anything, by the way. Don't even think about trying to get away. And don't try to deny you're enjoying this." Her voice was so calm, so cool. She seemed to have no fear of being caught, and her absolute confidence did calm Carl down a little. "Oh! You're getting really turned on aren't you? You're little dick is all twitchy and jumpy in my hand!" her light giggle was hypnotic, lulling him dangerously. He felt sparks in his fingers and toes, a pressure, a tightness in his balls.