In the night sky far above the lighted ceiling of Penn Station’s main concourse, thunderclouds gathered in the New York City sky. Even on a good night it was next to impossible to see a star, but the encroaching storm blackened the Manhattan night. Neon signs stood out in brilliant relief against the rumbling grey darkness.
A story and a half below street level, the brown concrete of the platforms vibrated with the force of trains pulling into the station. Miles Pierson checked his watch, briefcase dangling in his grip. Forty past the hour of one. The train was two minutes early.
The Long Island lines usually weren’t this deserted, even on the other side of midnight, but this Friday had been exceptionally miserable. The sun hadn’t made one appearance from behind the heavy cloud cover, and it had drizzled off and on across the city for most of the day.
One of the ticket collectors nodded to Miles as he boarded the train. “Late night again, Mr. Pierson?”
“You know how it is, Derrick,” Miles said, giving the man a friendly smile. He worked late at the office often enough that he knew most of the staff on his line by name. Miles was a friendly, personable guy, the kind that people found easy to talk to. He whistled softly to himself as he wandered through the train, trying to find a quiet place to sit.
Normally, he would be eager to return to his home on the beach after such a long day at work. He hadn’t quite intended to stay at the office as late as he had, but the new sales report had just come in for the previous quarter, and he’d found it engrossing enough that he had only noticed the time when the security guard came around for midnight lockup. On this particular Friday, though, there was nothing waiting for him at home other than a small pile of dry cleaning and yesterday’s leftovers. Nothing to be eager about.
Most of the train cars were empty. The Port Jefferson line didn’t stop in many of the areas where young, partying college students lived - and even if it did, tonight was not the kind of night for standing in line outside the club. Miles tugged the cuffs of his suit jacket, resettling it over his broad shoulders, and pushed into the second car from the end.
The lights were on the fritz in this car, leaving patches of shadow across the seats. Miles’s blue-green eyes scanned the rows. There was a figure slumped against the window in one of the rows toward the back of the car.
Miles may have looked like an average, corporate employee, but as he identified the figure as a young woman, leaning against the window with her eyes closed and her breath puffing gently against the glass, something stirred deep in his chest. Aside from his corporate day job, Miles Pierson was a predator.
And the young woman sitting on the train registered as prey.
Miles didn’t approach her immediately. He took a seat across the aisle, a couple rows up from where she slept. She must have boarded this car as soon as the train pulled in and promptly gone to sleep. Her train ticket was wedged in the small metal strip on the top of the aisle seat, so that she wouldn’t have to wake up when the conductor came by to punch tickets.
An announcement echoed through the otherwise quiet train car, and they lurched into motion. The girl didn’t even twitch. Miles’s pulse sped up. Definitely prey.
Miles opened his briefcase and pulled out the day’s newspaper, folding it in eighths and pretending to occupy himself with the financial headlines. The hunt was on, and she didn’t even know it. The only sound was the rhythmic clacking of the car along the tracks, the thump of Miles’s blood pounding in his ears, and the intermittent soft shift of cloth as one or the other of them moved.
As they passed out of the tunnel and into the night, rain pattered on the roof of the train. The door between cars banged open, and Derrick clicked his hole punch as he entered the car. He punched the girl’s ticket, glanced at her, and then back at the ticket with his brows furrowed. He shook his head and moved on, waving off Miles’s frequent rider card. “I know I ain’t got to punch you, Mr. Pierson,” he said.
“What stop does the young lady get off at?” Miles asked.
“Port Jefferson - end of the line, just like you.”
Miles smiled at the train conductor. “I’ll make sure she wakes up and gets off when she’s supposed to,” he said.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierson. I do wish there was more New Yorkers like you in the city.” Derrick grinned, all white teeth in his dark face, and moved on to the next car.
As soon as the door banged shut after him, Miles opened his briefcase, put his paper away, and got up to move to the young woman’s row. He sat slowly and gently, not wanting to disturb the seat in case he woke her.
He needn’t have worried. Now that he was this close, he could smell alcohol on her sleeping breath. She was pale and blonde, her gently-curled hair spilling freely over her shoulders. Miles reached out, hardly daring to breathe, and tucked one of those curls behind an ear. He ran his finger over the swell of her cheek, the soft curve of her jaw. She didn’t move.
Miles let his breath out slowly and turned his attention to the purse she had tucked in against her side. It was a snap closure, easy for him to tease open and retrieve her wallet from inside.
Her name was Hannah Marquette. She had a Michigan license, with what was presumably her parents’ address listed, and a student ID for Stony Brook. Miles carefully replaced the wallet. She was more than likely a student at the business or radiology school out near Port Jefferson, and probably shared an apartment with one or more other students. Her cell phone wouldn’t help him - girls her age password-protected their electronics.
He drew his hands away from her purse and examined her clothes. She wore a short, tight skirt and a short, tight top. Miles couldn’t keep himself from trailing his fingers across the strip of soft skin exposed between the hem of her shirt and the waistband of her skirt. Once again, Hannah didn’t twitch. Her breath continued to puff across the window of the train.
Her shirt was low-cut, exposing the white curves of the tops of her breasts. Miles’s mouth watered. Possibilities spun out in his mind. He’d told Derrick he would make sure she got off at her stop - his stop. He could take her home, do it slowly and properly, make her scream-
But no, a student couldn’t live in Port Jefferson alone, not when the student’s parents were states away. She would have roommates; she would be missed. He needed to make her come to him.
Miles Pierson was a predator, and he was always prepared to encounter his prey. He looked up, ensuring that nobody else had entered the train compartment since Derrick left, and opened his briefcase again. This time, he pressed his fingers against the back seam, and the bottom of the briefcase opened up to reveal his toolbox - at least, the part he carried with him. This was not the first time Miles had encountered prey of opportunity, and it wouldn’t be the last.
He removed what he was looking for and shut the briefcase, setting it gently on the floor. Now was when it started to get tricky. Miles had to hope that the sheer quantity of alcohol the girl had consumed would keep her from waking up. He curled one hand around the soft, pale skin of her thigh and drew her legs gently apart. Her skirt rode up to expose lace-trimmed cotton panties, blue. Miles pressed the backs of his knuckles against her through her underwear.
Hannah moved sleepily, and Miles froze. Her lips parted, just a little, and she wiggled her hips on the seat. Her eyes never fluttered. She was still asleep, just responding to the stimulus. A smile curled across Miles’s lips, and he inched his fingers higher to the waistband of her underwear, hooking them inside the elastic and gently tugging the material down. It was slow going, teasing her panties down over the curve of her ass, but Miles eventually maneuvered them down low enough on her thighs to fully expose her to his gaze.
He spread the lips of her cunt apart, mouth watering as he glimpsed her pink, wet slit. He dipped one finger inside, slowly, and a short huff of breath escaped Hannah’s mouth. She didn’t know what was happening, consciously, but her body recognized pleasure and wanted it. Now more than ever Miles wanted her in his bed, spread out and tied down under his hands, forced to accept whatever he was willing to give to her pliant, yielding body.
Miles’s free hand closed around one of the objects he had taken from his briefcase. This one was a vibrating dildo with a flared base meant to keep it firmly seated inside the wearer. Miles had modified it with a wifi receiver, so that he could trigger it remotely from wherever he was. It wasn’t large - three inches long and barely two inches wide at the base - but Hannah would definitely notice it was there, once she was awake and coherent again.
Miles slowly teased another fingertip inside and spread them apart, exposing her wet hole. He licked his lips and eased the dildo inside, watching it sink into her body with little resistance. Her pussy swallowed it eagerly until the flared base rested against her outer lips. Such a wanton cunt. Miles wanted to press his tongue into it and lick until she came apart beneath him.
Patience, he thought, and picked up the second object. It was slim and metal, with black leather straps dangling from it. This would be harder than the dildo, but it was crucial to his plans. Carefully, he eased the chastity belt down the juncture of her thighs, lifting first one leg, then the other to wrap the straps firmly around her hips. He worked slowly, easing each strap across her skin, keeping his touch light and fleeting. Already her cunt felt wetter than it had when he first touched her, a product of the firm plastic inside of her. He reasoned that if the jolting of the train and his hands between her thighs hadn’t woken her, it was unlikely that this would.
Hannah stirred as he brought the straps around front, and he froze, his fingertips resting against her skin. Her head lolled back against the seat and she shifted. Miles moved with her as she adjusted, and she didn’t wake up. He smirked, snapping the finishing touch on his prize, a padlock engraved with the number of his latest prepaid burner phone. He pulled her panties back up her legs and the curve of her ass, then tugged her skirt back down.
That done, he resisted the urge to continue fondling his new toy and opened his briefcase one last time, removing a slip of paper. He wrote a brief note and tucked it into the left cup of her bra, right against the nipple where it would rub and chafe. Then he got up slowly and returned to his own seat, checking his watch. The entire operation had taken about fifteen minutes. They had another fifteen at least before the end of the line.
Time to see how good his new toy really was.
The vibrator had several settings, and was controlled from an app on his phone. Miles keyed in his password and brought up the interface. The ambient noise from the train was too much for him to hear the dildo switch on, but it had a rewarding effect on Hannah. Her lips parted further, until he could see her soft, pink tongue between her teeth, and her cheeks flushed. Miles turned up the intensity and watched her breath puff faster against the window, watched her writhe in her sleep.
Miles reached down to adjust himself in his slacks. She was lovely. Responsive. He dialed up the intensity to the highest setting and was rewarded by a soft, breathy noise from the girl, like the coo of a dove. His cock swelled in his pants, pressing against the seams, and he turned the vibrator off, taking deep breaths to contain himself. He would have her at his mercy soon enough.
For the rest of the ride he watched her with hooded eyes. The flush slowly receded from her pale cheeks, but her lips remained parted, her mouth hanging slightly open as she slept, blissfully unaware that she had been marked by a persistent, intelligent predator.
The train finally lurched into its final stop. He got up as Derrick entered the car and moved to Hannah’s row, shaking her shoulder gently. She was more thoroughly passed out than even he could have considered, as she only made a sleepy, protesting noise and tried to snuggle closer to the train window.
“Girls her age shouldn’t get so drunk,” Derrick said, shaking his head. “Good thing she found herself among decent folk, eh Mr. Pierson?”
“Good thing,” Miles said, leaning forward to collect Hannah into his arms. He stood slowly and nodded to Derrick, who handed him his briefcase. “I’ll make sure she gets home, wherever home is.”
“Good luck to you, Mr. Pierson. I better not see you on the midnight Monday train, too.”
“No worries,” Miles said, returning Derrick’s easy smile. “I’ve had enough late nights this week.” And with a new plaything to keep him occupied, he would have a reason to come home immediately after work.
Hannah’s head rested against his chest, her breathing soft and even. Miles’s pants felt tight at the thought that it would take her hours to realize she had been violated, that someone had exposed her intimately, someone had touched her without her permission.
He stepped off the train onto the platform, hunching over Hannah’s sleeping body to try to keep the rain off. He strode to the nearest covered bench, trying to figure out what he was going to do with her. He could take her now, but there was the small matter of her probably-existent roommates. He hadn’t seen anything with her address on it in her purse…
“Hannah?” Miles looked up at the new voice. It was another young woman, mousier than Hannah, with short dark hair, large glasses, and a round, perky face. The girl scowled at him. “Who are you? Some creep?”
“I’m sorry, I can see how it would look like that,” Miles said smoothly. “I believe your friend would have slept all the way back to the train yard if I hadn’t carried her off. She seems to have had a few too many.”
The brunette rolled her eyes. “Of course she has,” she said, disgusted. “Good thing I brought my car, as if I wouldn’t in weather like this… dumb midwest country bitch, doesn’t she know what can happen to her, passed out on the train?”
Miles said nothing, but stood to follow Hannah’s roommate back to the car. The girl grumbled the whole way, making him think that this was perhaps not the first time Hannah Marquette had been handed off to her roommate by a total stranger on a late weekend night. She yanked her passenger door open and Miles gently settled Hannah into the car, buckling her in.
The girl got into the driver’s seat and started the car. “Thanks for your help,” she said. “Sorry I called you a creep.”
“No need to apologize,” Miles said, reflecting that Hannah’s roommate had much better instincts than Hannah herself did. He shut the passenger door and waved as they drove away. It was only a matter of time, now.
He reached down and adjusted himself again, anticipation keeping him at least half-hard. His own car was not far away, and he smiled slowly to himself as he turned the key in the ignition. An excellent end to a very, very long day.
--------
Saturday morning dawned grey and blustery. All that was left of the previous night’s rain was a wet mist, clinging to trees and windowpanes. It took most of the morning for the obscured sunlight to slant through the windows at the right angle to hit Hannah in the eyes. The clacking of computer keys was the first thing to reach her ears. Jackie was awake, or maybe had never gone to sleep. Hannah groaned.
“About time you woke up, drunk ass,” Jackie said acidly from her computer. “I had to retrieve you from a strange man on the train. Again.”
Hannah grumbled something under her breath, started to sit up, and froze.
There was something hard between her legs, and a feeling of fullness inside of her. “The fuck-” Hannah rolled out of bed with a thump and dashed for the bathroom.
“I keep telling you that you shouldn’t drink so much!” Jackie called after her as she slammed the bathroom door.
Hannah frantically pulled up her skirt, yanking down her underwear. The hardness she’d felt was a metal strip going from the swell of her pubic bone between her legs, covering her labia and the opening of her vagina. It was held around her thighs by thin, black leather that joined in the front, closed with a padlock. Hannah tugged, but she couldn’t get the contraption off. Her heart started to pound. There was something else - something she could feel inside of her, pressing against the inner walls of her pussy and filling her up. It felt good, satisfying in a way she didn’t want to admit.
It also made her need to pee, desperately, and she felt at the metal over her crotch. It at least had holes. She couldn’t help herself - whatever was inside her was pressing against her bladder. Hannah sat down hard on the toilet, staring at the padlock between her legs as she relieved herself.
Last night was a blur of lights, noise, and pattering rain. She concentrated, trying to remember details. The clicking of the conductor’s hole punch, the rocking of the train. Something else, something fleeting - light touches. Cologne, maybe? Hannah shook her head. She couldn’t remember. She groaned and put her head in her hands, flinching as something stabbed into her nipple.
She pulled down her bra and found a folded piece of paper. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it, a sick feeling crawling its way into her gut. The handwriting on the paper was neat and slightly slanted, blocky, a man’s writing. It said:
If you tell anyone, the whole internet will know what a sweet, hot little cunt is between your legs. I have video.
“Oh god,” Hannah said, feeling bile rise in her throat. She spun around quickly, kneeling in front of the toilet and emptying her stomach of the remains of the liquor she’d drank the night before. Her head was spinning. Her breath started to get short. She’d been raped, violated on the train, in public, where anyone could have seen it happen. Worse, her cunt throbbed hotly around whatever was buried inside it. Every way she moved, it put pressure on her clit, sending jolts of pleasure through her thighs.
It was so wrong, and Hannah couldn’t help that it felt good. She spat, clearing her mouth, and brushed her teeth vigorously. What could she do? She didn’t even know who had done this to her. She couldn’t tell anyone, not if she didn’t want video of her being fondled - or whatever this mysterious man had done to her - to show up all over the internet.
She looked down at the metal contraption again, mouth trembling, and inspected the padlock. Something was engraved on it. Digits. A phone number.
Like a dog tag, she thought, and bit her lip against the surge of shame that moved through her. Worse than the shame was the tiny, secretive spark of squirmy pleasure in her gut. Something about being marked, being owned like this…
Hannah shook it away and stormed out of the bathroom to retrieve her phone.
“Did you have a good time, at least?” Jackie asked dryly.
“Sure,” Hannah said, distracted, not really paying attention to her roommate. She needed to go somewhere private to dial the number on the padlock. Jackie would look at her weird if she took her phone into the bathroom. The apartment they shared was the basement of a house, and their landlords let them store some of their stuff in the attic. That was as good a place as any not to be overheard. “I’ll right back,” she said, and left the apartment, quietly letting herself into her landlord’s place.
The couple was out, and Hannah was able to climb the stairs to the attic unseen. Every step made the metal rub against the juncture of her thighs, made her more aware of the hard thing inside. Once there, she yanked up her skirt again and frantically dialed the number etched into the padlock. Her hands started to sweat as the call rang on the other line.
After three rings, someone picked up on the other line. “Hannah,” the voice said. It was male, warm and smooth, and Hannah couldn’t help but shiver a little. The way he said her name was like a caress.
Hannah scowled. “How do you know my name? What did you do to me?”
The low chuckle on the other line did bad things between her legs. Hannah pressed her knees together, biting her tongue to keep any noise from escaping her. “My lovely dove, you should be more careful where you pass out drunk,” the man said. “I know your name because I went through your purse. As for what I did to you…” there was another chuckle. “I did nothing I didn’t know you would enjoy.”
As soon as he said it, whatever was stuffed inside Hannah’s vagina came to life, vibrating hard. Hannah let out a soft, breathy, “Oh!” without meaning to and writhed in place.
“You see?” he asked. “You have such a wet, wanton little cunt. It was practically begging me to be filled.”
“You’re sick,” Hannah said, teeth gritted. Lord help her, it felt good. Too good. Whatever he’d put inside of her was pressing against all the right places. “Stop, please, just- just stop.”
To her surprise, the vibration did stop, but Hannah’s sigh of relief stuck in her throat at the man’s next words. “I wouldn’t want you to come before I could see you fall apart,” he said. “You do want me to take the chastity belt off, don’t you?”
“You- I-”
“You’ll never get it off without the key,” the man said, and then suddenly the vibration was back, even harder than before. “I can do this to you whenever I like. The receiver has a prodigious range. If you decline to come to me, I’ll simply have you at my mercy… whenever I like.”
“Stop!” Hannah said, throat closing on a sob. She was so close, so close, after being stuffed full all night and aching. Even if she hadn’t been awake for it, her body had accepted it without her.
The vibration stopped again. “You’ll receive a text with my address. Report me to the police, and you know what will happen. Do not mistake me - I have many resources at my disposal. I will not be caught. You will come to me.”
“No, don’t-” Hannah said, but the phone disconnected before she could finish her sentence. Almost as soon as the call hung up, the thing inside her started to vibrate again. It wasn’t as intense as it had been before, and she could only conclude that whatever dildo or vibrator the man had put inside her had several settings. He was playing with her, keeping her on the maddening edge of orgasm without letting her fall over. Hannah sat down, gasping, pressing her knees together and concentrating on not falling over that edge. Her body might think this felt good, but her mind knew it was wrong.
Her phone buzzed just as the vibration intensified. Hannah could do nothing for a moment but bite her lip, hard, riding it out until her tormentor backed off, dialing it back down to the lowest setting. She felt hot and heavy between her legs, the flesh throbbing. Hannah checked her phone with trembling fingers and mapped the address, head spinning. He didn’t live far - only a few blocks. She could walk there.
Hannah’s hand clenched around the phone. What was she thinking? She wasn’t going to go to him, she wasn’t going to let him win! Whatever video he had taken, surely it was obvious that she was passed out? What was the worst it could show?
Shame flooded through her again. She was actually thinking of letting him post that video. It couldn’t happen. What if someone she knew saw it? It wouldn’t be a threat unless her face was in it, and someone who had planned this much would have been careful to get her face-
Her train of thought stuttered to a halt as the vibrator buzzed intensely again, the highest setting yet. Hannah panted, leaning forward with her head propped on her knees, phone clutched in her hand. The phone buzzed again, and she looked at the text message.
I’m waiting.
A lump rose in Hannah’s throat. She didn’t have another choice. She had to go if she wanted this thing out of her. She punched the keys on her phone angrily, sending, ‘on my way’ as she got to her feet. A few seconds after she sent the message, the vibrator shut off again. She let out a slow, relieved breath. It seemed that the man would leave her be as she walked to his house. Hannah’s cheeks burned with shame as a thought popped into her head - it was a good thing he’d shut the vibrator off, because if he’d left it on she would have come all over herself before she got halfway there.
Hannah stomped down the stairs and slammed back into her apartment, yanking last night’s clothes off with her back to her roommate. Jackie didn’t look up or turn around - the girl was a recluse, and barely tolerated humanity in general and Hannah in specific. Hannah yanked on a pair of jeans, gritting her teeth as the tight denim made the vibrator press more firmly into her. She changed her bra and her shirt and pulled a brush through her hair. “I’m going out,” she said.
“Off to get some hair of the dog?” Jackie asked without looking up from her computer. “Don’t make me come get you from the train station again.”
“I won’t,” Hannah said shortly. She grabbed her purse and practically
