The Five Finger Express

So what if he came here in his pants? It would be embarrassing but he could change out of his underwear in a bathroom somewhere, maybe even get some new ones. If he was really lucky his sticky come wouldn't stain his suit pants at all. Carl's endorphins, his throbbing prick, were reassuring him. This felt so good, there was no need to stop it now, just let her use you, let her play with you until you come - a hot wet mess in your boxers. Carl started to feel, for the first time, that this was a good thing. Then she opened her mouth again: "I think it needs some air..."

What? Carl squirmed as her hand released his cock and slipped from his pocket lithely. She was so quick, already her fingers were fumbling for his fly, tugging on his zipper, he had to stop her! But when he shifted the old man next to him grumbled and almost came out of his doze, and he found himself freezing. What could he do? This crazy woman was about to expose him, drag his naked genitals out, right here on the train. This was going beyond a tease, and into a whole new kind of game.

He tried to move his left hand, bringing it out of his pocket to stop her, but her left arm was around him too, her palm flat on his chest, pinning his own limb in place. And now his fly was coming down, the soft buzz of the zipper reverberating throughout his body. He looked down incredulously and saw her fingers for the first time - young, free from blemish, moisturized, tipped with green nail polish. Then he saw them disappear inside his gaping fly.

"Now, now, don't struggle, don't fuss," he could hear the smile in her voice, "I only want to make you feel good. I just want to make this little prick spurt its creamy filling, and if you shoot off in your own undies you'll make an awful mess, won't you?" Carl's heart was hammering, he nodded. "Didn't my hand feel good on your prick?" He nodded again. "And don't you want to make me happy? Don't you want to come for me?" He heard the disappointment, the sullen pout with which she said that, and was surprised how much it stung. Oh God, her fingers were tugging on his boxers and his prick was bobbing and straining. Of course he wanted to make her happy... but why?

His eyes dropped again. One hand was still exploring his boxers, finding the best way to free his manhood from their restrictive embrace. She wasn't even rubbing him deliberately now, but every time her fingers did brush his jutting cock it leaped and ached for her attention. The other hand was flat on his chest, on his shirt, just inside the lapel of his suit, stroking him as if soothing a wild horse that was about to be saddled for the first time. His breath was becoming heavier, getting louder and louder in his ears.

"Oh, oh..." she murmured, and he knew she had found the opening on the front of his loose boxers that would give her total access to him, and total control over him. "Here it comes..." again that light, taunting giggle and then he felt hot-wired, electrocuted as the hot skin of her fingers came into contact with the meat of his cock. She gripped it and pulled it so cleverly that it barely took a second before it was done, and there it was: his swollen, tumescent member, sticking up naked and exposed into the public air of the carriage. His breath caught in his throat, he sobbed.

He was facing the door, that was the luckiest thing. He wasn't facing back into the carriage, and the only person who would possibly have been able to see his shame, his exposure, was the old guy who seemed to be out cold on his right arm. In front of him there was a few inches of space between him and the window and that gave his assailant all the room she needed to start jerking him.

She really had done a number on him though. His prick was so hard he was almost proud to see it; it was fat and nicely proportioned - he hoped - and the hard, red helmet was glistening with the seed he had already produced. She ran her perfectly manicured thumb over it as he watched, smearing his early come down the shaft and making him shudder with pleasure.

"What a gorgeous fucking prick," she purred, "I can see it in the reflection Mister, and let me tell you I am going to enjoy making this one come." Carl made the tiniest of noises in his throat, a sound of frustration and helplessness. She heard. "Oh, don't be like that! There's nothing you can do anyway, you're mine now." Her words, little more than hot, sharp gasps in his ear, cut into him like blades. As he watched, her fingers curled around his shaft and she started to jerk him properly, using his own slippery lubricant to make the entire length of him slick and sticky.

"Standing here with your prick out on a crowded train?" she continued, "What a dirty, dirty pervert you are." Carl shuddered and risked shaking his head, "Oh yes you are, you bad boy. You could have asked me to stop... I might have ignored you, but you could have asked. Now look, I'm going to wank your stupid cock until you come right here, with all these people around us. Do try not to make a noise, ok? Oh, and look!" her giggle lashed him like a whip, "In front of our cute little audience member there."

What was she talking about? Carl's head was spinning; each torn, tortured breath seemed to rip out of him at deafening volume. How come all the other people in the carriage couldn't hear him? And what did she mean audience? No one else could see him, there was no cute audi...

His eyes snapped up and he stared out into the next car, and his heart sank. There, her book lowered, her mouth slack in astonishment, the cute girl he had developed an instant crush on earlier was standing, staring at his red, throbbing member. Her eyes flickered in a quick triangle: from his cock, to the mask of humiliation that his face had set into, to a point just over his left shoulder where he supposed she could make out the face of his tormentor.

"Oh. My. God," the voice growled in his ear, "You are so dirty." He shook his head desperately now, denials ready on his lips but without the guts, without the balls to make them. "Yes you are, exposing yourself to a pretty little girl like that. Getting your big naked cock out and wanking it in front of her."

"I'm not!" his voice was a high, tiny, pathetic whine. He sounded like a snivelling loser.

"Look! You're showing it to her!" the girl behind him slipped her fingers to the base of his shaft and gripped it firmly, then started to bend it left and right, then jiggle and shake it. It did look, in a sick, depraved way, like he was waving his cock at the cute girl opposite him. He squeezed his eyes shut and another sob escaped his tight, aching throat. She was humiliating him in front of that gorgeous girl!

"Actually," the voice in his ear became more conversational, "I don't want to gross her out on her morning commute. Maybe she doesn't want to see your big ugly prick coughing up sperm first thing in the morning." Carl held his breath. "Let's see."

His attacker released him for a moment and both of her hands came up before him, palms upwards in a questioning gesture. She pointed down with her two index fingers, aiming them right at his poor, throbbing dick, then made a thumbs up with her left hand and a thumbs down with her right.

Carl looked over at the girl in the other carriage, the only witness to his shame and humiliation. Her slack jawed look of horror was gone, and she had folded her book closed. Thumbs down, he thought, tell her you don't want to see me come! Please! But although she was making a curious frown, directed pointedly over his shoulder, she didn't seem to be disgusted by the naked cock she was being shown. In fact, as Carl watched, a slow, dirty smirk spread across her pretty face. His hope was torpedoed and sank without a trace.

Thumbs up.

Carl looked up at her face, his expression pleading with the other girl - don't do this, make her stop. But the girl just smirked at him, tucked her book back into her bag and crossed her arms - focussing her attention completely on him. Typical - he had wanted her attention before, but he only got it once his whole world had been turned upside down.

"Oh look! She likes it! She likes your prick, Mister!" the voice in his ear was triumphant, demonic, "She wants to see it come, aren't you lucky?"

"Please," Carl reached deep down inside himself and found the strength to protest, "Please, don't..." The girl's right hand settled back around his shaft and started to pump, to work him with strong, merciless strokes. Her left hand came back to his chest, but this time instead of just stroking him, she sought out his left nipple. He prepared himself just in time, or the sharp pinch she gave his tender flesh would have made him squeal out loud.

"No, no I'm afraid you had your chance to complain, and you stayed quiet," she explained, "All you get to do now is come." Her hand always moving on him, controlling him, "Now shall I jerk you fast, like this?" her hand became a blur and the jolts of pleasure made Carl lurch forward. The old guy grumbled again. Fuck, he was getting closer. "Or shall I jerk you nice and slow?" Suddenly she was toying with him at a snail's pace, pulling back down on his shaft and then slowly, slowly ascending it again. His cock started to ache.

She pinched his other nipple, and he felt so cheap and easy. His face in the window was blushing and crumpled with despair and shame. What the hell could he do? Through two panes of reinforced glass the other girl was waving. She brought her hands together and made two small circles with her fingers and thumbs, then pointed down at his bare shaft. What?

"Oh, of course!" the sickly sweet voice hissed, "How could I forget. She wants to see your balls too!" Carl hung his head as the pinching and tugging of his poor, sensitive nipples continued, and as the green-tipped fingers dove back into his underwear and grabbed his heavy, come-filled balls. She fished them out past the opening of his boxers, out of the zipper of his pants, pushing that fabric back, until his hairy sack was hanging right out there. Yet more exposed, he thought, his heart hammering. Yet more humiliated.

She paused before continuing her stroking, to tug his cock and balls around a little more, showing him off to the observer in the other car. She cradled his sack gently, lifting it so that his cock was pushed back, and a smear of his come was drawn across the charcoal grey of his pants. He almost didn't care, it was the least of his problems.

In the other carriage the girl cracked a frown of a appraisal and gave another thumbs up. He didn't want to look at her, wanted so very badly to pretend that none of this was happening, that the pretty girl in the houndstooth coat wasn't watching him being displayed and handled like some piece of meat. But then, that was all he was now, some hot, hard meat for the girl with green nails to play with, and the girl in the coat to watch. Two of them now, twice the shame. He tried to swallow but his throat felt tight, swollen shut. When he shifted slightly he felt the cold wet sweat that was staining his shirt across the chest and in the armpits.

"Oh God," he felt her lips brush his ear, she was so close, "I could play with you for hours, and I'm sure out friend there wants the show to go on. But we've only got a few minutes left, baby." Carl gasped with relief, but then realised that her fingers were wrapped tight around him. Then she was pumping, and he'd had produced so much come already that the tight sheath of her hand was almost perfectly lubricated. She was good, so good, following the contours of his shaft, applying extra pressure at the end of each stroke, coaxing him, bringing him closer and closer to the inevitable finale.

"Look," she whispered, and Carl looked. The girl through the glass was mesmerised now, not looking up at Carl's face, or his molester, just biting her lip and watching the green-painted nails slide up and down, up and down, quick now, quicker than before. Carl realised he was panting, gasping, and he fought to control his breathing. If people saw him now... if they knew... "Oh she likes your cock, Mister. Maybe she's thinking about sucking it? Wrapping those cute little lips around your fat, filthy cock and letting you spurt your slimy come onto her tongue. Would you like that?" Carl couldn't answer, every breath was a raw, tearing effort. Every thump of his heart threatened to knock him off his feet. "Oh my God, your prick is twitching again Mister. I think you're going to come any second aren't you? You're going to spurt your boy-come out here in this carriage, with all these people around you, and that cute little girl watching you as you completely lose control." Carl whined and squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back. The voice kept pushing, "As you completely disgrace yourself."

Her hand was hot, tight, irresistible, unstoppable. And still she wouldn't shut up, whispering filthy encouragement into his ears as his balls, tingling in the humid air of the train, clenched and he knew that he would come. Even if she just released his cock now, he would be coming any second, he was too far gone and that final surrender - knowing that he couldn't escape this last humiliation anymore - almost came as a relief to him.

"Oh, oh. Here it comes. Oh your whole body is shaking! Give me that come you little pervert, come for me. For me and her..."

And Carl's body gave in. He shuddered - a tight full body spasm that he fought to control, as his testicles gave up their precious, thick load and finally surrendered completely to her control. He came so hard he thought his heart would burst from his chest to join the spunk that was exploding from his prick. He looked down to see that the first goopy string of his seed had splattered against the glass of the window before him. And she kept working his shaft so exquisitely, so excruciatingly, that for a split second he thought he might shame himself further by passing out. He watched as she milked him, squeezing and pumping as spurt after spurt of his pearly jizz pulsed out of his jumping cock.

What were these feelings? Shame, humiliation, but also a kind of pride - she had picked on him, molested him, but they had done this together, and she had singled him out, complemented him on his prick, on his ass. But she had made him into little more than an object, grabbing and squeezing his nipples and slightly flabby chest as if he were a hooker, something she'd paid for and owned completely.

Fuck, he was still coming, little kicks finishing him off now as his spunk trickled down over her fingers. He hoped he could at least avoid staining his own pants too much. People would know, at work, he was sure they would. He looked at the mess he'd made on the train window and the door, his pearly come splattered and trickling down in abundance. God, he felt so sorry for the other passengers who would have to look at that, and the staff who would have to clean it up, but it wasn't his fault. Was it?

When he looked up, the object of his instant crush - the girl in the houndstooth coat - was silently applauding him. She was blowing a kiss - not to the girl who had claimed him, but to him. He was so confused, was this a dream?

"I think we made her morning a little more interesting, don't you?" The way she said 'we' made his heart flutter. His prick was still hard - she had been absolutely right, he would definitely need to jerk off again at work. But she was just caressing it now, and carefully so as not to rub her come-laden digits against his suit. "Good boy, by the way. You barely made a sound, and no-one - except her - noticed. You were a very, very good toy." Carl's face was hot with blood. Was this... pride? But she had completely dominated him, destroyed his masculinity, humiliated him in public! "Put yourself away carefully now." She ordered, and her hands disappeared from his crotch and his chest. He felt the absence acutely.

He did as she said, dragging his crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away the worst of his seed. His cock was so sensitive still, she had jerked him so well that he couldn't help but wince as he wiped under the sensitive head. Then he tucked away his half-hard manhood with perfect timing. The train was slowing - they were approaching the city centre. The girl in the next carriage was smiling and pretending to fan herself. He couldn't look at her, she had been witness to the most shameful event of his life. He felt like he might never erase the hot, red blush that was staining his cheeks. Suddenly the hot, sharp voice was back in his ear.

"You were such a cute little trick," she purred. The train was almost stopping. They must only have seconds, and when the crowd moved he would turn and see her, see the face that went with the green nail polish. He winced and flinched, had she just called him a trick? "I hope I get pushed up behind your cute little bum again. And in case I don't, my email address is on the bus ticket in your pocket." Carl's eyes widened, shocked. "If you want me to come and own you like the little animal you are sometime..." her lips brushed his earlobe, he shivered, "just drop me a line."

And with that the train stopped. The old man next to him woke with a yawn and glanced around, wrinkling his nose. Oh God, he can smell my spunk, Carl realised, but after a second the man lost interest and straightened up ready to disembark. Carl wanted to look at the girl in the next carriage, see what she was doing, but he just couldn't make himself. And anyway his head was full of thoughts of the girl behind him. He could still feel her shape, her breasts against him. Any second now, the door would open and...

A sharp elbow in his back made him squawk with alarm. A split second before the doors opened and she was moving, elbowing and shoving people aside roughly to get to the door first. The carriage was filled with shouts of protest and curses. He could turn now, but when he did he found that she was already lost in the head and shoulders in front of him. He saw flashes of her red hair as she parted the mass of humanity, and heard her voice raised for the first time.

"Sorry! Sorry, I'm going to be sick! Excuse me!"

Well, she certainly wasn't worried about people noticing her - that was for sure. And she'd slipped away before he'd managed to get a look at her. The doors opened and he moved with the crowd, eager to get away from the incriminating stains and smears on the window, the door, the floor.

He hurried through the station, but as he was leaving the platform he saw a blur in front of him that stopped him cold. Red and houndstooth. Red hair and a houndstooth coat. The girl with red hair and green nails was trotting ahead, almost arm-in-arm with the girl in the houndstooth coat. They were talking, giggling together. They had...? His blood felt chilled, and fizzed with almost fatal embarrassment. He didn't want to think what that meant, and though he knew he should say something, anything to them, to show that he hadn't cared, that they hadn't gotten to him, he found that he was walking slower so that they would leave well ahead of him.

After that he kept his head down, but even doing that was embarrassing because he could see the single stain of spunk that was drying on his pants from when his tormentor had been roughly showing the other girl his genitals. And even the thought of that brought another rush of blood to his groin.

It wasn't until he was halfway to his office that he risked slipping his hand into his pockets. There it was, in his right pocket, a thin, folded slip of paper. And when he drew it out, just as she'd promised, her email address. Harmony? Was that her name? His heart pounded. Could he do it? Could he email her? She had controlled and shamed him, treating him as he had never been treated before and - to be honest - had never imagined he could be treated. But it had made him feel... alive. He folded the ticket back in half and slipped it into the breast pocket of his shirt, right over his heart.