Take the F Train

She felt herself lifted into the arms of a man standing against a wall of the train car. Seemingly without effort, he hoisted her up onto his cock. She rested her forehead on his shoulder and wrapped her legs around him, gratefully accepting the respite for her abused throat.

"Thanks," she said inanely, woozy. Drunk? Cock-drunk? Another man positioned himself behind her and entered her ass.

Niya hung limply in the air between them, and moaned.

She wasn't sure later how much of the whole blurry night she'd remained conscious for, but Niya thought she must have passed out before they were all done with her.

When she awoke, she was lying on the floor of the train car.

Niya felt full. More than full. She felt like a floating helium balloon, unmoored and inflated almost to bursting. With difficulty, she opened more-than-sleep-crusted eyes.

Pearly white semen was slowly drying all over her body. The biggest pool was between her legs, still being fed by a slow trickle down the crack of her sore ass. She felt sore all over, in fact. Aching, used. Like after a workout.

Okay, not just a workout. She opened and closed her jaw a couple times, making sure the stiff muscles still functioned. Her breath felt raw.

Her cunt... well, she'd felt a little like this before, when she'd spent too long reading spicy fiction in bed with her fingers between her thighs.

She tried to stand, took a few breaths, and finally hauled herself up onto wobbly legs.

There were a couple people down at the other end of the car, one reading a newspaper and the other looking at her phone. The conductor's cubicle opened, and a butch middle aged lady approached, almost put a hand on her shoulder and then seemed to think better of it.

Instead, the woman motioned for her to follow.

The inside of the cubicle was much larger than the outside. There was a bank of showers at one end, and several people were washing off in them.

Niya caught a glimpse of herself in a long mirror. Her face was smeared all over. Mascara trailed down her cheeks. Her hair was a matted nightmare. The remains of her clothing was torn and befouled.

There was a lot of dried come on her tits -- and amid the swirling fragments of memory, Niya recalled men pumping their cocks between her breasts, spraying warm stickiness from cleavage to collarbone. She'd long since lost count of the cocks at that point, two three, four at a time, filling her, rubbing against her, painting her skin.

She shivered, and felt an achey answering throb deep inside.

A fresh waterfall of come began to run down her thigh and drip on the floor between her legs as she jostled loose more of what must have been a vast reservoir. Was it possible for her belly to be visibly swollen with the stuff? She wasn't sure, and decided not to examine her reflection any more closely.

She'd meant to take home some guy and let him hit it so she could say she wasn't a virgin anymore.

Instead, she'd let a whole train full of guys -- ha -- run a train on her. She found herself giggling at this, probably a sign that she was still profoundly exhausted.

A very beautiful woman with long black hair smiled at her, toweling off.

"Hey cutie," said a lithe young man, who was pulling a tight pair of shorts over his ass. "New here?"

Niya managed a drowsy nod, which turned into a yawn. Another woman took her by the hand and led her into a shower stall. The woman, who sported a friendly grin, acres of tattoos -- and, Niya couldn't help but notice, a fully waxed zone -- helped her out of the shreds of her clubbing outfit and turned a knob.

A warm spray fountained over them, and Niya leaned into it like a cat. The tattooed woman brandished a bottle of body wash.

"Mm," Niya managed to respond. Her kind helper began to soap her up with gentle hands, fingers lingering lightly over her tits and belly and thighs.

Her skin felt like it was on fire, but the water running down her body and the woman's ministrations were so soothing that it didn't bother her.

"Oh, I could just die happily with my head buried between these pillows of yours," the tattooed woman laughed, hefting Niya's tits in her hands and kissing her on the cheek. "I can see why your car was so popular last night."

"Did I really do that?" Niya murmured.

"You were amazing. The F Train would be honored to have you join our staff."

"Staff," Niya echoed. Her brain felt like it was melting and running out her ears.

The tattooed woman was washing between Niya's thighs now, and, somehow, her tender, over-used clit was responding with a fresh sizzle.

Niya leaned in.