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Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
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There was a new rule on the train, and Harper hated it as soon as she saw it.
“Female passengers must ride standing in the aisle, with both hands on the overhead loops at all times.”
She had known it was coming. Just a month ago there had been a terrorist incident, where a woman had drawn a gun on a crowded train in protest against President Cupcake’s misogynist laws. Luckily a man had tackled her to the ground and raped her in front of the cheering crowd of travellers before she could fire the gun, but now there were new rules, and the transit authorities were extra vigilant.
Before Harper had even gotten near the train, a public transport inspector had pulled her aside for a pat down. The male officer had taken pleasure in squeezing her tits and ass extra hard through her clothes. Then he had put on a glove and reached under her skirt, pushing past her panties and shoving two fingers into her fuckhole as she gasped with humiliation and shock. Then one of the fingers had gone into her anus, before finally the officer had pushed both fingers into her mouth to inspect it.
He had asked Harper if she was a good girl, and Harper had blushingly been forced to answer, “Yes, sir, I’m a good girl,” before he let her go.
Harper wouldn’t have been wearing a skirt at all, except that trousers simply weren’t acceptable under the new regime. There was no law against it, but anything less than a proactively feminine look was likely to get a woman referred for “attitude correction”. And so Harper wore a miniskirt, and a blouse that emphasised her bust, and high heels, and lipstick. She needed to look “fuckable” – because anything less would displease men, and there were a lot of ways for unhappy men to make trouble for women in President Cupcake’s new world.
She hurried onto the train amidst the crowd of early-morning passengers. There were a little over two men for every woman on the train. Less women were working these days – more were returning to “domestic” roles. In some cases “domestic” meant housewife or mother. In others it meant 24/7 fuckslave. A lot of women were choosing to enter arrangements as property with men, feeling that choosing a single man to own and care for them was better than being fair game for rape by anonymous strangers.
On the train today she saw five women wearing collars stamped with the government insignia that showed they were the property of a man. It wasn’t a complete protection against rape, but they were far likely to be harassed than the free women here.
The men took seats on the train, or in some cases remained standing, but the centre of the train was for the women. Harper could already see women holding the overhead loops that ran in two lines down the centre of the train. The loops were placed at a comfy height for men, so most of the woman had to strain upwards to reach the loops. One particularly short, attractive Asian girl seemed to be almost off the floor, supporting her weight with her arms.
At the end of the train carriage was a male guard. He held a pistol casually in one hand. Harper shuddered. If a woman tried a terrorist act in this car, she wouldn’t be lucky enough to merely be raped.
She entered the train and took a position facing the aisle, with her back to the seats. There was really no good way to stand, but it was marginally easier to avoid eye contact with a man this way. She reached overhead and took a loop in each hand, hating the way it made her tits jut out, hating the way it pulled the hem of her blouse out of her skirt and exposed her midriff.
Another woman got on. She was collared and leashed, in public, like a dog – but worse than that, she was almost totally nude. She wore no clothes except high heels and a pair of sexy panties. Her tits were large – obviously surgically enhanced. Her blonde hair was in pigtails. Her makeup was streaked by recent tears.
The man who was holding her leash brought her over near Harper, and then pushed her so she was directly facing Harper.
“Look the pretty free bitch in the eyes, and then take the loops, Piglet,” he said.
The woman did as she was told, reaching up to take the loops directly opposite Harper. Harper winced as the woman’s huge fake tits pressed against her bust.
The man sat, still holding “Piglet’s” leash – and Harper suddenly realised she knew this woman.
“Cassandra, is that you?” she whispered in horror.
Cassandra Grey had gone to university with Harper. She had been studying economics, with a side of feminist history, and Harper had shared those history classes with her. Cassandra had been a bright, spirited girl who Harper had very much admired. Now she looked – well, like a porn doll.
“Sssh,” whispered Cassandra. “I’m not allowed to use that name.”
“What happened to you?” asked Harper.
But there was no answer. Instead, the man holding Cassandra’s leash whacked Cassandra hard on the ass with one hand, pushing Cassandra harder up against Harper.
“Quiet, Piglet,” he said. “No oinking on the train.”
This was happening more and more often recently. Under the new laws there was nothing prohibiting a woman going partly or completely nude in public, providing that she was reasonably attractive to the male gaze. And while a man couldn’t force a woman to be collared and leashed in public, or bare her tits like Cassandra – even if he owned her – there were so many other things he could do to make a woman’s life a misery that it was best for a woman to simply obey her man’s commands. Or, better yet, anticipate them, so that he never had to speak them aloud.
The media had branded this wave of degraded, exposed, leashed bimbos the “fuckpet aesthetic”, and had produced copious articles portraying it as a consensual lifestyle choice that women were making because it made them happy. These bare-titted leashed sluts were proof, said the editorials, that women were naturally more akin to animals than people, and happier when they were treated accordingly. Every tearful, humiliated woman like Cassandra who allowed a man to do this to her was used as proof that women deserved exactly this treatment, and more.
Harper felt uncomfortable with her former friend’s oversized tits crushed against her chest, and her face intimately close to Harper’s own, but there was nothing she could do about it.
More men shuffled onto the train, and soon the carriage was crowded. There were men on the seat behind Harper, but there were also men standing behind her and on either side.
The doors closed, and the train started, and as the train started the move, the man directly behind Harper reached up and placed his hands on the same loops Harper was holding. His large hands closed over hers, and then his body swayed forward. She felt his groin press against her buttocks, and she blushed, because he had an erection. She could feel the hard outline of his dick pushing between her butt cheeks.
And then he leaned forward a little more, and suddenly Harper was being pressed up against Cassandra, hard. Her face bumped into Cassandra’s, and her tits squashed flatter. She had to shuffle her feet and ended with her legs closer to Cassandra’s.
“Excuse me,” she said, pointedly, to the man behind her.
“You’re excused,” he said, and made no attempt to move. If anything, he leaned harder into her, thrusting his groin against her ass and making her take another tiny step towards Cassandra.
She literally couldn’t move her head far enough away from Cassandra to not be touching her.
Cassandra’s owner saw what was happening.
“Your friend wants to kiss you, Piglet,” he said. “Be a good girl and give her what she wants.”
And before Harper could react, Cassandra had opened her mouth, and was kissing Harper on the lips.
Harper froze. She had never kissed a girl – let alone a half-naked fake-titted slut, in front of a train full of men. It was slutty, and humiliating. Worse than that, it was scary. Two women “lezzing off” for the entertainment of men was encouraged and socially acceptable, but if you were expected of being an actual lesbian – preferring women over men, or not being sexually attracted to men at all – you could be referred for sexual orientation adjustment, which was said to involve brainwashing, physical torture and repeated rape.
There was laughter from the men in the carriage, even as the other women tried to pointedly look away.
Harper tried to turn her head away from Cassandra, but the man behind her took a hand off the loops and grabbed a firm handful of her hair. He used it to force her mouth back towards Cassandra.
“It’s okay, Kitten,” he said. “You can kiss her.”
Harper tried to say she didn’t want to kiss Cassandra, but when she opened her mouth Cassandra pushed her tongue into it, and Harper could do nothing but suck on it and let Cassandra press her lips against her own.
There was no lust or passion in Cassandra’s eyes – just a scared, desperate look. Harper realised that Cassandra was literally thinking of nothing except pleasing her owner. The man holding her leash wanted to watch Cassandra lez off, and he wanted to watch Cassandra molest and humiliate Harper, and so that was all that Cassandra cared about.
Harper tried to take her free hand off the loop to free herself from the man behind her, or push Cassandra away – but as soon as she did a high pitched siren went off in the cabin. The guard at the end of the carriage raised his gun, and there was sudden silence.
“Put your hand back on the loop, bitch,” said the guard.
Harper’s eyes went wide, and she hurriedly grabbed the loop again.
Cassandra had pulled away from Harper’s mouth at the sound of the siren, so Harper said, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
The guard thankfully lowered his gun – and then Cassandra was kissing Harper again, and there was nothing she could do about it.
“Probably a fucking feminist,” said someone behind Harper. “Probably wants to kill every man here. She needs to be fucking leashed.”
“Look at her,” said someone else. “She’s clearly a lesbian.”
Harper tried to shake her head, but the man holding her hair wouldn’t let her. She tried to say that she wasn’t a lesbian, but it just ended up as muffled noises made into Cassandra’s mouth.
“Check her pussy,” said someone else. “See if she’s wet from tonguefucking her bimbo dyke friend.”
Harper made muffled noises of alarm again. She didn’t want a strange man anywhere near her pussy – and not just because of the humiliation and violation of such a thing, but because she was just realising that she *was* wet. Cassandra was a good kisser, and the man’s cock pressing against her ass had had an effect as well.
The man behind her reached under Harper’s skirt and found the hem of her panties. Harper whimpered, but there was nothing she could do to stop him drawing them down her thighs and letting them fall to the floor – not without removing her hands from the loops, or physically struggling.
Then came the humiliation that had been foreshadowed. The man pushed his foot between Harper’s legs, and then kicked them apart. Harper squeaked as her legs parted, and she found herself supporting more of her weight from the loops. Then, with her legs spread, the man reached between her legs and let his fingers find her cunt.
It wasn’t just wet now – it was *sopping* wet. He ran a finger along the cleft of her pussy, then two fingers – then he pushed the fingers into her fuckhole.
“Damn, it’s a swamp down there,” the man laughed. He pulled his fingers out of her, and then used his grip on her hair to pull her face away from Cassandra’s. He put his fingers against her lips, and Harper obediently opened her mouth to suck her cunt juices from them.
He went back to soak his fingers in her cunt honey again, and he fed this double-fingerful to Cassandra, who sucked Harper’s juices from him eagerly.
“How about it? Are you a lesbian, kitten?” he growled in her ear.
“No, sir,” gasped Harper. “I… I like cock, sir.”
“All lesbians like cock,” said the man. “They’re women. They can’t help themselves. That doesn’t mean you’re not a dyke.”
“No,” gasped Harper. “I’m… I’m straight. I *love* cock. I love the taste of cum. Please, sir…”
“Check her tits!” called out someone. “See if her nipples are hard.”
The man let go of her hair briefly to reach around in front of her. He pulled roughly at her blouse, and the buttons ripped and popped off. Then he reached into her bra and pulled out her tits, one by one, into public view.
Her nipples were definitely hard.
“Dyke,” he growled.
“No!” squeaked Harper. “It’s… it’s for you, sir. I’m aroused by you.”
“Shut your mouth and kiss your bimbo girlfriend, slut,” said the man. He grabbed her hair and forced her face back against Cassandra.
The train had come to a stop at a station, and more people were getting on. The press of people against Harper’s body got tighter. Cassandra was being forced forward too, and now they were standing about as close as they conceivably could.
A young woman getting on saw them kissing, tits out, and loudly said, “Disgusting whores.”
A lot of women behaved this way these days when they saw other women being abused. They knew that men would like them degrading and insulting their own gender, and male approval was safer and more valuable than female solidarity. And sure enough, this pretty young lady was getting smiles from the men, who were moving out of the way in a gentlemanly fashion to let her take her position on the overhead loops.
The train started up again.
“Let’s see whether you really like cock, slut,” said the man behind her. He took his hand from her hair, and adjusted his pants, and then a moment later she felt what she had feared – the hard, warm, wet tip of his exposed cock pushing between her legs, seeking her pussy.
She was about to be raped in public by a stranger. She had three choices: she could fight and struggle, which would probably get her shot by the armed guard. Or she could stand still and passive, letting it happen but making no effort to cooperate. Which would probably get her labelled as a lesbian. Or she could actively help him rape her.
It was no choice at all, really. She spread her legs a little further and wiggled her ass backwards to help him penetrate her.
She was lucky, in a way. The government was contemplating something called the “Donated Male Sex Work Act”. If passed, it would mean that if a man raped a woman, she would owe him money for the sex he had donated her. If she couldn’t pay, she would obliged to work off the debt through domestic service. It wasn’t law yet, though, so Harper was going to be able to “enjoy” this rape for free.
The man pushed his cock into her, and at the same time he grabbed her hair and pressed her lips back against Cassandra’s. Harper moaned, because despite everything, his cock felt good inside her, and as he began to rhythmically fuck her, she felt pleasure rising inside her. She found herself instinctively kissing Cassandra harder, and pressing her tits harder against the other woman’s.
This was Harper’s first rape, other than in her documentation process, and she was surprised by how pleasurable it was. She realised that she had been wrong to fight this. It felt *good* to be non-consensually penetrated by a strange man’s dick in front of an audience.
He fucked her harder and harder, as the audience laughed and cheered him on. Harper found herself humping her ass against him eagerly. At some point, she orgasmed, shuddering and moaning her pleasure into Cassandra’s mouth, and then shortly after, he did too, and she felt him filling her cunt with his cum.
When he pulled out, he reached down and caught a handful of the cum, and then brought it up and pushed it into Harper’s mouth. He got another, and fed it to Cassandra, and then the girls enjoyed the pleasure of sharing his sperm in their kiss.
“Okay, maybe she does like cock,” the man asked. “And she’s got a good attitude.”
The train was making another stop, and Harper realised this was where she usually got off. She tried to pull away and release the loops, but the man put his hands over hers again.
“I want a turn with her,” said another male voice, and there was a shuffle behind her, and suddenly Harper felt a new cock pressing against her cunt.
The train doors closed, and it began to move away. Harper was missing her stop.
The second man began to rape her, and Cassandra kept kissing. He pulled off her skirt as he fucked her. Someone passed him scissors, and he cut away Harper’s blouse and bra, leaving her nude.
Cassandra’s owner stood, and took out his own cock, and pushed it into his slave’s cunt. With one hand he pulled on Cassandra’s collar, choking her.
“Keep kissing her, Piglet,” he said as he fucked Cassandra, and Cassandra had to keep pulling against the collar that was depriving her of air to continue tonguefucking Harper’s mouth. She did, though, showing no concern for her own ability to breathe in her eagerness to please her master.
Cassandra’s owner reached out with his free hand and grabbed one of Harper’s tits, pulling on it by the nipple. Harper squeaked into Cassandra’s mouth. The man fucking Harper saw it and decided it was a good idea – he reached out and grabbed one of Cassandra’s boobs in each hand and pulled on them hard. The two girls were drawn even closer together by the painful tugs on their tits.
The second man ejaculated into Harper, and then a third man was taking his place.
There were another 20 stops on this line, and a seemingly unlimited number of men around Harper. If she was prevented from getting off until they were all done, it would take nearly two hours to get back to her workplace. She would likely be fired.
And none of these men were using protection. Harper was on birth control – it was still legal, for now – but it wasn’t a perfect solution. Any of these men could impregnate her.
She started to cry as she orgasmed again. Because this wasn’t even just today. She could see now that this was going to happen to her every day, for the rest of her life. This was what being a woman meant now.
Unless… unless she had an owner. It was an awful thought. She didn’t want to be an object – a piece of property. She didn’t want to be treated like Cassandra.
But it would be better to be at the mercy of one man than of all of them, surely? Despite everything, only one man had fucked Cassandra, compared to the dozens that Harper was going to service before she got off the train.
She wondered who might want to own her. Her boss? One of her male friends? Simply find a rich stranger and throw herself upon his mercy?
And as she pictured herself being collared – forever – she orgasmed again….
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