Actions

Work Header

Rey Riding Hood (with Chikan Ben/Kylo)

Chapter Text

It happens on a normal Tuesday morning in the normally crowded F train during commute time.

Rey likes to call it the HOOD Line because she is usually riding the train when her eyes are hooded, in the morning when she is still half-awake and in the evening when she is so tired after a day's hard work, and also because she always wears a red hoodie with her dancing company’s logo NYCB printed on her centra back and the figure of a ballerina on the front right side.

With her right hand holding the bar-handle above her head, Rey looks down at her red leg warmers and flat pumps, alternating between demi-pointe and demi-plié a la seconde, something the ballet soloist often does out of habit when she has to stand in one place for too long. Though she has to do it subtly so as not to cause unnecessary attention.

The people sitting and standing next to her are mostly paying attention to their phones or tablets, though, some of them are wearing headsets. The background music of video games can be heard from time to time. There is a nonspoken rule about the NYC metro system, you don't stare at people. 

She is subtly doing a sous-sous when the doors open and the incoming people push everyone forward, so she touches down on her heels in a tight fifth position.

As more people create less space, a sudden jerk sends someone behind Rey putting a hand on her left shoulder to steady himself, who retreats quickly with a whisper of "Sorry", a distinctively deep male voice.

Rey shrugs - épaulement - and adjusts the straps of her duffle bag in her left hand. It contains her pointe shoes and other dancing equipment and they feel heavy after the long journey. She is considering to change hands when there is a sudden jostle among the crowd.

This time, someone behind her presses a hand against her lower back, and then moves back swiftly with a murmur of "Sorry."

It may be the same voice, Rey is not sure. She changes hands and begins to recall the new choreography she has just learned for the coming dress rehearsal at Lincoln Center.

The third time it happens, the hand - presumably the same hand - lands on her left hip and withdraws promptly with a familiar "Sorry, again."

Rey shakes her head nonchalantly. She knows this kind of thing happens, especially in a subway so crowded, so easily jostled by the coming and going of passengers. And she is more concerned about the smoothly landing after performing fouetté en tournant en dehors that she is envisioning in her mind.

The fourth time it happens, it breaks her thought about a pas de bourrée derrière, because the hand lands on her hip - her derrière - again, and Rey suddenly becomes aware of how big that hand is, since it nearly engulfs the span of her butt and also because the hand stays there a little longer than necessary and then leaves with another sorry.

Rey slowly shakes her head again. She tries to focus on envisioning changement de pieds and how high the jump should be when the feet change positions in the air. 

The fifth time it happens, the hand flattens on her right hip and it doesn't withdraw until Rey moves forward - en avant - just a little bit, since there is hardly any space left.

Rey waits for the sorry that doesn't come.

And then the hand palms her right butt again, intentionally, since it goes under her short skirt, it is moving down, up, down.

Rey can't help but think of a balancé, but she knows that this is not an accident anymore.

This is molestation, something that often happens in crowded public transportation.

She has read something like this happened to other girls in the news, but her long legs and short skirt are not an excuse for a pervert to feel her up.

She tries to wiggle away, but the hand grabs her butt and kneads it sensually.

Since Rey cannot move forward again, she grabs her duffle bag and moves it backward to knock the man's hand off.

Half a minute later, the hand is back, and this time, it discretely tucks the back hem of her hoodie up, and then squeezes through the elastic waistband of her skirt - entrée.

Rey tries to jam the bag back at the man to get his hand out of her skirt, but somehow it is blocked, the big hand is determined to stay there, so she sharply turns her head. All she can see a big, black suited man's back, with raven wavy hair above broad shoulders.

He is so tall that Rey's neck begins to feel sore just trying to see his profile, all she gets is a big nose, so she turns her head back.

And his big hand is still insistently staying inside her skirt, his long fingers are moving downward, along the crack of her cheeks.

Rey curses inward and tries to squirm away, but the movement prompts the fingers to caress her covered pussy with a slide - glissade.

Oh no. She is being molested and her mind is still feeding her that non-sense ballet glossary.

She clenches her thighs out of instinct and freezes the moment the fingertips somehow touch her clit.

The man must have also noticed this, since the fingers begin to focus on the little nub and move back and forth - frappé.

Damn. Rey gasps audibly. The stimulation is humiliatingly arousing.

With a thump, she lets go of her duffle bag and moves her elbow back, trying to fight the man off, but the man's other hand grabs it and moves it up towards the bar above her head, and then grips both of her wrists together in a vice. 

He is so tall and strong that she has to stand on tiptoes. And her stupid bun-head mind is still telling her that it is port de bra en haut en pointe.

The fingers begins to move around her clit in round circles - en manège.

She has to squeeze her eyes shut when a particularly jolt of pleasure runs straight to her core.

She knows she shouldn't feel arousal by a pervert's touch. But what should she do? She frantically looks around, no one seems to pay attention to what is happening to her.

Should she calls out for help?

And let people knows she is being molested publicly?

Will they help catch the molester and call the MTA cops?

How long will the police interrogation and report last?

Will she be late, or even be there for the Lincoln Center dress rehearsal, the final one?

Which of the understudies will eagerly replace her?

Will it ruin her chance of being a soloist and possibly her career?

Professional ballet is not exactly a back-stabbing world, but it sure is cut-throatingly competitive.

So many questions are clouding her mind.

And all the answers to those questions seem bad.

Rey looks up and sees that she is three stops away from 14th Street, where she can switch to Line 1.

She grits her teeth as the man's fingers move from side to side, and then go for long slow strokes along her sensitive folds. 

It's disgustingly titillating and she is embarrassingly dripping down there now.

He must also feel that the patch of her panties is drenched, because he stops abruptly.

Rey lets out a sigh of relief, just for a brief second.

Because the man feels for the edge of the wet patch, tugs it aside roughly, thrust a long meaty finger inside her pussy - piqué - and then moves in and out rhythmically.

Rey bites her lip so hard that she can taste blood.

When the man inserts a second finger and spreads them - écarté - the movements are so salacious that Rey involuntarily bucks her hips backward and sends the fingertips to the g-spot on the front wall of her vagina.

She can't help let out a moan that is more like a mewl.

Rey then hears a chuckle, from whom she is not sure, she glances around, scared that someone else has found out that she is being fingered by a stranger, and instead of calling for help, she is secretly enjoying it.

The fingers insistently rub against her sensitive spot, until she cannot hold back any more.

Her eyes go blind when she reaches orgasm. Her inner wall flutters and contracts uncontrollably, clenching the man's two fingers inside her. 

Grand pas de deux.

The man has made her come and she doesn't even know what he looks like.

Another chuckle, and this time she is sure that one comes from the man behind her.

After the spasm stops, she feels the man moves his fingers in and out of her pussy and begins to prod her clit again - encore.

She is so ashamed yet so relieved when the man releases her wrists from above her head. Her arms are so sore that she can only weakly fight back when the man's other hand moves inside her hoodie to fondle her breast against her bra.

Her tits are hard little buds under his constant kneading and pinching.

She reaches her second climax before the train's broadcast signals that her stop has arrived.

Rey gathers her last strength, stamps on the man's foot as hard as she can, the surprised and painful yell that comes from that man may be her pièce de résistance so far. She adds an elbow back for good measure.

The man moves both hand back - dégagé - she quickly picks up her duffle bag and runs for the nearest exit through the crowd.

Échappé, she has escaped, finally.

The moment Rey steps on the platform, the doors close behind her and she swiftly turns back - en tournant - to peek through the windows. She just has to know.

Just as the train begins to move, she sees a large tall man in a black suit with wavy raven hair and a big nose, sucking his wet long fingers with a smirk.

He licks his plump lips lewdly. Then he shows his slightly crooked teeth. His lustful eyes are staring right at her with aplomb.

Chapter Text

There is nothing more humiliating than being fingered by a stranger in a crowded subway train and having two orgasms out of it.

As traumatized as she has been by the molestation, Rey still has to ride the HOOD line to go to work in the morning and go home in the evening, since buses take too long and taxis are too expensive.

She doesn't wear short skirts anymore. 

She uses a backpack instead of a duffle bag.

No more absent-minded envisioning of choreography in the subway. Absolutely no more French glossaries or even Russian ones.

She holds the central pole with both hands and keeps her eyes on the nearest exit, praying something like that will not happen again.

But, alas, it happens again.

This time, it happens on a normal Tuesday evening in the normally crowded F train during commute time.

Rey is exhausted, hungry and frustrated.

Her performance has been criticized again today.

Her rhythm has been off, the working leg of her arabesque was not straight enough. And her attitude, her instructor sighed, was terrible.

Rey closes her eyes and leans her forehead on the cool pole for a moment, trying to figure out what has gone wrong.

But of course she knows what has gone wrong - getting raped by a stranger in the subway as crowded as the one she's in now.

She has probably developed PTSD or something like that. She knows she should perhaps go see a therapist or something.

Rey lets out a disgruntled sigh, reminding herself that tonight she should definitely be reading something about self-help online.

Instead of searching for porn about public sex in transit, again.

She hates herself for doing that, but she cannot stop her wandering mind.

Her knees go weak and her panties get wet every time she recalls the unfortunate incident.

She consciously checks out every tall dark stranger that passes her.

A deep male voice and a chuckle will render her into a quivering needy mess.

And the long fingers of a pair of big hands on her body....

On her body?

Rey opens her eye with a start, suddenly aware of something big and hard is nudging against her lower back.

She turns her a head at once, preparing to shoot daggers with her eyes to whoever that is trying to grope her.

Turns out it is the handbag of a middled-aged woman standing behind her. The corner of the leather handbag is round but firm. The woman murmurs a sorry and moves backwards a little bit.

She lets out a sigh of relief and turns back.

She is so paranoid these days. She is even wearing her backpack on the front.

You can never be too careful, her mind reminds her.

The opening of the doors floods more passengers inside the train, crowding it to the point of near claustrophobic.

And inevitably, someone jostles her and pushes her towards her left.

She feels something hard and sharp presses on her right shoulder.

She looks up and sees a man, who is in a white shirt and a red tie, standing next to her. And he is reading a book. She has just bumped into the spine of that book.

A pocket book, to be exact. And it's an old one, the pages are dog-eared and a bit yellow, the corners of the cover are worn.

What kind of people read real old pocket books these days?

Curiosity prompts her to try and see the cover.

It takes her three tries to get the whole title: 

The Hidden Power of Everyday Things: A Complete Personology Guide to Your Lifestyle for Each Day of the Year

That is a really long title! However, the book must be quite engrossing, since the man is nearly burying his nose in it, it's kind of cute, actually.

All Rey can see is that he is wearing thick framed spectacles, his hair is short, close to a buzz cut, and his ears are distractingly big.

Then she realizes the man is a tall, big one too. His biceps, pectorals and quadriceps are really impressive. His thighs might be twice her size. His waist is a bit thick though. She wonders how many hours a week he spends in the gym and maybe he should work more on his core instead of focus on beefing up eight-pack or quads.

Rey tells herself she is only assessing a human body from a professional athlete’s point of view. Ballet dancers’ physiques tend to be on the slim side. They are all lean muscles and some don't even have enough body fat to sustain regular periods, which is a common profession hazard in her circle.

Even though she is a soloist, she still often has to partner with a male dancer (more than half of them are gay anyway, because not many men would like to wear tights every day), even though the corps de ballet all have a similar body type like hers in her NYCB company, so close-distance contact is not a problem. 

Ballet dancers are not gym bunnies, they don't do squats or lift weights like normal people. Instead, they do about a thousands pliés and extensions on a daily basis, from a young age. You think dead lift is impressive, try doing arabesques and allegros with weights around your ankles and wrists. 

She knows how unique the shapes of those over-stretched swan-like legs and unnaturally elegant high arches are, because they ARE unnatural. Most dancers have to bind their feet on a wooden arch stretcher, again, from a young age, male or female, all for the sake of creating an ethereal illusion that ballet dancers are fairy-like creatures when in fact they are just human beings who are used to or even love the physical pain of doing those impossible jumps and turns.

She remembers her early ballet instructor always said in that Russian accent, “If you don’t feel pain, you are doing it wrong," instead of the cliche "No pain, no gain."

All professional ballet dancers have various degrees of masochistic streak. That's why they always have their hair in impossibly tight buns, and all the worn-out pointe shoes have blisters and even blood inside. They don't just dance on pointe. They dance on pain and the high. Rey can't remember how many toe nails she has lost and regrown. 

Rey looks to her left side again, there is a small sweat stain under his armpit and the smell of male musk makes her swallow a little bit hard, stupid hormones, she tells herself she does not want to climb him like a tree as she moves slightly to the right.

The man doesn't seem to realize this as he keeps reading.

But then a sudden jostle from her right side pushes her towards the man, bumping into his book again.

Rey lowers her head and mutters a sorry immediately.

There is no reply. 

The third time she bumps into his book, it skews his glasses.

He lets out of a huff and raises his hand to adjust them.

Rey manages an apologetic smile upward and the man's eyes seem to soften at once.

He has pretty eyes, she thinks as he nods at her, the lower half of his face is still covered by the book.

The fourth time happens just as the man is turning a page, and the impact cause the piece of paper to be ripped into half accidentally.

Oh no. Rey doesn't even dare to look up at him. She keeps murmuring: "Sorry sorry I'm so sorry."

"'Kay," the man answers so quietly that she can barely hear it.

From the corner of her eye, she sees that the man closes the book and puts it inside the right pocket of his black dress pants. It disappears inside. Pocket book, indeed. She wonders why men’s pockets are always larger and deeper than women’s.

Rey grips the pole with both hands and determines not to be jostled towards the man again.

The peace lasts for a little while, until the doors open again and some people around her move to get off while some more people get in the train.

When she looks towards her left again, the man has disappeared, like the book in his pocket.

She hasn't even seen his whole face yet, Rey thinks to herself. What a pity. It does not count as a meet cute if she doesn’t meet his face, right?

Just then, a jerk from behind sends something hard and sharp bumping into her butt.

Oh no. She panics and turns her head back immediately.

She is somewhat relieved to smell the familiar male musk and see the familiar white shirt and that red tie. The man has somehow migrated to her back and she no doubt bumped into the book in his pocket.

This time it is her turn to say "'kay" before the man starts to apologize.

She turns back and focuses on the pole while her mind wanders again. She should have looked up while she could, now that his face is not covered by his book, just to make sure what he looks like.

But then the man and the book in his pocket keep bumping into her again, and again.

She begins to get annoyed when the man presses closer to her back. His large frame looms behind her much smaller body. It seems to engulf her. Rey looks down, of course his shoes are huge. 

As the bumping continues, she may have to worry about her butt getting a bruise from the hard book spine, she tells herself jokingly.

Except the hard thing that is nudging against the crack of her butt now is somehow softer and warmer?

And it is starting to hump against her at a pace that is absolutely not caused by the crowd behind them.

Oh no. Realization hits her harder than the landing after a grande jété développé. The man is humping his hardening cock against her butt!

And to think she has for a moment thought that maybe he was a nice cute guy!

Why are there so many perverts in the subway!? 

And why do they keep targeting her butt first?

NOT AGAIN!

She grits her teeth and reaches her right elbow back, trying to push him away.

But the man grips her wrist and moves it backward to.... grab the bulbous head of his hard dick.

When did he take it out? Is he some sort of exhibitionist?

Rey's heart is at her throat when she feels the man spreads his precum all over her palm, and then tries to force her sticky hand to jerk him off.

He covers her hand with his and begins to move up and down lewdly. The angles are odd and she feels ashamed and frightened.

The size of his cock can only be described as monstrous as she can barely close her fingers around the base.

NO! NO!

She lets go of the pole and moves her left hand backward, trying to fight him off, only to be seized by the man too.

Stupid move! And history almost always repeats itself.

The man clasps both of her hands together, and makes quick work of tying them together behind her back with what? The texture feels like.... his necktie.

Just as she think she should yell for help, the man reaches one hand up to cover her mouth, muffling her scream.

NO! NO! NO! HELP!

Then he begins to rut his hard dick against her butt and gradually moves forward, forcing her to presses her crotch against the metal pole.

The frictions from both behind and in front of her lower body is so uncomfortable that she is on the brink of tears. She doesn't want to admit that she prefers his dick, because the metal pole is hard and cold, it will not give. She feels her pelvis is starting to hurt from the rutting. So she has to buck her hips backward, and that is even more humiliating, it is almost like she is humping against his cock instead.

No one around her seems to notice her distress and her tear-stained face as the man behind her squeezes his other hand inside the front of her skirt and her panties.

The way he finds her clit immediately and stimulates it expertly is too uncanny, until she hears the familiar chuckles that has been haunting her dreams, the ones with her burying her fingers inside her cunt to find release afterwards.

"So wet for me," he whispers against her ear as he begins to thrust two long finger inside her with barely any resistance, rubbing against her g-spot right from the start. She is so ashamed of how aroused she is.

She looks straight at the window in front of her, trying to see through the gaps of the people standing before them, the reflection shows her the face of the man. Lustful eyes. Big nose. Plump lips. Lewd smirk, and those slightly crooked teeth.

It's the same face! Just different clothes, a pair of glasses and a new haircut

Rey is so embarrassingly titillated that she comes within two minutes and when the man lets go of her mouth, she is too weak and dizzy to yell for help.

And that's when she feels the man has tugged her panties down to her thighs in one fluid motion, and is now tucking up the back of her skirt - her long black skirt that is almost ankle length. It is one of her double-layered dancing skirt with a 720-degree span, the thing can stretch out like a blossom when she extends an arabesque penché on stage.

She has thought that maybe if she wore a long conservative skirt, she would not catch the attention of molesters.

She is obviously wrong. The longer the skirt, the more time it takes to lift it and it creates more fear and anticipation.

"So much fabric, so much coverage," the man says. "One would say you have dressed up for the occasion."

If Rey's face could get any more flushed, it would.

When the back hem of her skirt is bunched around the small of her back, there is still enough fabric to cover her thighs and hopefully her dignity. Her only consolation is that no one else would see her naked butt as the man presses his hard cock flush against her again. The black fabrics of her skirt and his pants almost melt together.

And then she gets the unmistaken feeling of the man's mushroom head nudging against her wet folds, coating it with her overflowing fluid. Her cunt is still dripping and clenching for the two fingers that are no longer inside her. She feels empty, but she doesn't want to be filled by that monstrous dick.

NO! NO! NO! But her mouth is covered by his big hand again.

She is still leaning against the pole, and the panties stuck in her mid-thighs are limiting her movement, she clenches her thighs tighter as the man thrusts between them experimentally, getting her more and more worked up. She is afraid the moment she spread her thighs just a little bit wider, he will try to penetrate her.

Rey is not short, but the man is just too tall, at this angle he cannot possibly insert his hard dick inside her, right?

She is wrong again.

The man must have widened his legs or squatted down, because he points the blunt head of his dick against her hole, it is of course a tight fit, because it's much thicker than those two fingers, but he nonetheless presses it in slowly.

The burning stretch has Rey tearing up again. It is too big, even after she's relaxed after the first orgasm. It fills her in a way that no one else has done before. She bucks her hips, trying to get it out, but her resistance is in vain. The head of his cock stuck in her opening at an awkward angle.

"So tight for me," the man obvious thinks of the same thing, as he fumbles to tease her clit again, and once she is relaxed enough to let him in, he begins a series of shallow thrusts.

Gradually, he buries half of his hot rod inside of her and just as she thinks things can not get any worse, the man stands straight with his feet together and uses his free hand to hold her up against the pole, until her toes barely touches the ground, then the gravity forces her to impale herself on his dick at a punishingly slow pace.

"My little cock warmer," he nips at her ear tip and it nearly burns off. Both of her ears, her face and her neck are flushed.

And after he buries himself inside her to as far as the angle allows him, he just stays there. She is filled to the brink, but feels a bit of relief as there are no suspecting movements to catch attention from people round them. But then his free hand snakes inside her hoodie, peeling back her bra to tease and pinch her nipples.

"My lovely little tits," he keeps flicking his fingers against those hard little buds and she moans against his palm. His motions are covered by the backpack on her front.

The cock stays inside her as she gradually gets used to the girth, and she's getting more and more impatient. If she wants any friction against her sensitive spots, she will have to arch her back against her rapist and lift up and down on her tiptoes. So as she shamefully and subtly shifts her impaled body on the man's large long cock that she can never fully get rid off, she is lamenting about her years of pointe work would have to be used like this.

The stopping and starting of trains create jolts to to the whole cabin, but especially the throbbing hard dick deep inside her pussy. She literally rides the HOOD line the whole way, and it is a long ride.

She has been fucked, or has been fucking herself to the point of half-consciousness and he doesn’t even bother covering her mouth anymore, focusing on teasing her clit and tits.

Rey doesn't know how long he has stayed inside her, the tormenting pleasure keeps coming and going, but it must be some time after her tears dry up.

He comes inside of her at one point with a grunt, biting the tip of her ear, spilling spurts of hot semen inside her womb and her mind is too fucked up to think about protection or birth control.

After he has pulled out, he replaces his dick with his fingers, and begins a series of merciless assault on her g-spot, and Rey squirts so hard that the front of her skirt, her panties and the floor beneath her is all drenched to a darker color. It’s a wonder no one else has found out what is happening.

She can feel warm liquid dripping onto the floor from her violated cunt that is still fluttering and spasming against nothing. She doesn't want to keep the man's semen inside of her, but she also doesn't want other people to find out the man has creampied her.

She looks at those pearly white semen pooling near her flat pumps, groans inward, and shuffles her feet over it, trying to cover the evidence of their heated intercourse.

But her knees are buckling, and she ends up just squirming her thighs together to prop herself against the pole. Her inner thighs are a mess of sticky come. She will not allow herself to sit on her naked butt, or kneel on the dirty floor that is full of their come and god knows what else.

At the same time, he chuckles again and carefully arranges her skirt back down. 

And he somehow manages to tuck her wet panties off her legs.

"My little souvenir," he brings the panties to his big nose, inhales deeply, and then pockets them.  

Then he tries to kiss her mouth, she weakly turns her face over to press on the pole to prevent him from getting what he wants, so he pecks on her cheek and kneads her ass playfully.

Then he unties her wrists and shoves his necktie into his other pocket.

"Until next time," he says his goodbye and then he is gone, along with the body warmth that she has reluctantly got used to, but his musky smell stays.

Rey's heart sinks to the floor. 

There can't be a next time, right?

She leans against the pole helplessly for a while, until her stop has arrived.

Rey gathers what is left of her will and strength, slowly limps towards to exit, her pussy swollen and pulsing, come still sliding down her inner thighs and calves, some of it dripping onto her pumps and inside her shoes.

Her soles feel disgustingly slippery.

Something a dancer hates the most.

Chapter Text

NO! NO! NO!

Rey wakes up in a start.

She is having those dreams again.

Rey rubs her hooded eyes with her finger, trying to rub more sense into her mind.

She doesn't know how long she has nodded off, but based on the PA, she hasn't over-ridden her stop.

It's getting colder and colder now, she pulls up her hoodie hat to cover her head and zips it higher up her neck, hugs her small gym bag tighter, trying to get more warmth.

It is a long ride home and she has been so tired and tense these days. She is constantly exhausted.

All because....

Don't think about it anymore.

You are safe. No one will hurt you.

She repeats that in her mind, as she warily watches the crowd surrounding her from her corner seat in the subway train.

Rey had managed to sit down on this seat as soon as the previous passenger got up. 

And she has been sticking her butt to this plastic seat ever since. 

The corner seat is at the end of the subway cabin, and she is sitting close to the metal wall, hoping it will shield her from any harm.

She hates it when someone stands behind her or next to her too closely. But when you take the subway twice a day during commute time, it is inevitable.

She has been trying her best to sit on the subway seat whenever she takes a ride.

She will not give up her seat, not even to the 80-something old man with a cane or the heavy pregnant woman with a toddler standing next to her and glaring at her.

They don't know what kind of traumas she has been through and what kind of nightmares she has been having.

Rey lowers her head and stares at the twisting fingers on her lap, not meeting the eyes of anyone who think they are entitled to her seat.

It is her seat and she is determined to sit there until she reaches her stop. 

She doesn't wear skirt, short or long, anymore.

Rey wears pants or baggy jeans or overall now.

And today, she is wearing her black garbage bag dance pants. They are loose and stretchy ugly things. And as the name suggests, they literally look like a garbage bag, reserved only for warming up or conditioning exercises before the real ballet rehearsal and so they stink of sweat.

What a piece of garbage. 

But they give her a sense of safety and comfort that nothing else can offer.

You are safe. You are safe. You are safe.

Rey repeats to herself like a mantra, even though she does not really believe it whenever she is in a subway train, or any crowded places.

The last words of her rapist keep echoing in her mind:

"Until next time."

And it has been haunting her ever since.

She definitely does not want a repeat performance of that kind of violation and humiliation.

Rey has seen his face now, and she will be on the alert anytime a tall dark stranger gets too close to her.

They are not her wet dream. They are her nightmare.

She has read a lot of self-help stuff since then.

Rey didn't need any Plan-B pills since she has an IUD.

But she still went to a gynecologist to make sure she didn't somehow get pregnant or any STD, or god forbid, HIV!

Rey doesn't count herself lucky since she still suffered from a urinary tract infection and it was a bitch.

The doctor prescribed her some antibiotics and jokingly called it honeymoon cystitis with a wink.

Honeymoon her ass.

Because she told the doctor her boyfriend had been a little too passionate.

She doesn't have a boyfriend.

She could not bring herself to tell the doctor that she had been raped in a crowded subway train, twice, by the same man.

She worries that they would suggest her to go to the police, which would be the right thing to do.

Being fingered by a stranger didn't leave much evidence, but being penetrated and ejaculated inside her by one certainly left a lot of evidence.

And judging by the way the man acted, so experienced and so shameless, he might very well be a serial molester or repeat offender, who might have already had a criminal record.

She knows she should have gone to the police and get a rape kit.

She knows she should not have let the culprit be at large. 

For all she know, he might be out there hurting other women, and her again.

"Until next time."

She shudders at the thought.

Rey dreads about the inevitable unpredictability.

You are not safe. You are never safe.

The conflict keeps bouncing around Rey's mind.

And that is the sad truth.

She is so ashamed of herself.

Why did he target her? Again?

Has she done anything wrong?

She shouldn't have worn that short skirt.

She should have said no right after the first grope.

She shouldn't have smiled at him and....

Stop your victim blaming non-sense, the rational part of her mind shouts. You have done nothing wrong.

No one is to blame but the rapist.

The subway jolts as the doors open and close, more people come in and out, their legs and shoes and bags moving back and forth hypnotically.

And she somehow nods off again.

o0o

Rey wakes up feeling funny and she is a bit disoriented.

She is still sitting in the subway seat.

Something is off, but she doesn't know what exactly is that.

The passenger in a red plaid flannel next to her is reading a newspaper, the New York Times, something Rey seldom reads.

He is sitting with his jeans-clad legs wide open, their thighs are touching.

She closes her thighs at once, and his legs spread even wider then.

Just her luck that she would be sitting next to a man-spreader.

She focuses on listening to the lousy broadcast of PA, trying to figure out the next stop. 

The man next to her then lifts his right leg and rest his leather boot over his left knee, the dirty heel of his boot touches her thigh lightly.

Rey huffs and crosses her right leg over her left one, avoiding any more contact with the rude man.

But she cannot help think about how long his legs and how big his feet are.

Just then, she feels her outer thigh is again being touched.

OH NO.

The man is palming her thigh up and down with his big hand.

Rey looks up slowly in fear.

But the musky smell has already told her who he is.

And there he is, the rapist, sitting right next to her, folding down the newspaper and showing his buzz-cut hair. He is not wearing glasses this time, but Rey can recognize those lustful eyes, big nose and plump lips anywhere.

"Hello sweetie," he says with a smirk, showing off those slightly crooked teeth, "Miss me?"

Rey tries to uncross her legs and stand up at once, but the man's hand presses down on her lower belly and forces her to sit back. Her gym bag falls to the ground next to the wall with a thump.

She opens her mouth, trying to yell for help, but the man immediately stuffs something soft inside her mouth.

"The souvenir you gave me, remember?" he says.

Her panties, from last time. 

She wants to vomit.

He somehow produces a piece of clear tape to seal her mouth.

"Don't worry, I washed them," the man says, as if that would soothe her. "After they have been thoroughly used and enjoyed. Good memories, huh?"

All she can get out is a muffling moan as he ties her hands together behind her back with tape swiftly. Definitely a repeated offender. He is too good at this.

The man manages to maneuver her onto his lap and moves onto her previous seat on the corner. His seat is immediately taken by someone else the moment he picks up the newspaper and his blue coat to cover their lower body. His left arm keeps circling her waist tightly, preventing her from escaping.

"I miss you so much," he whispers to her and kisses her sealed lips, "Especially your tight little cunt."

She squirms her face away, he chuckles and pecks on her cheeks. "My girl is so shy."

From an outsider's point of view, they probably look like a couple displaying intimate affection in public.

His body is burning like an inferno, but she is a quivering mess as she can feel his hardening cock nudging against her butt, again.

The feeling is too familiar and too scary as he squeezes his right hand inside the elastic waist band of her garbage bag dance pants.

He feels around and then frowns. "What have we here?"

Rey is not wearing panties because she is wearing a strappy black camisole dance leotard and white tights inside her hoodie and pants. She was in such a hurry to catch the subway that she didn't even get changed after the performance.

He chuckles when he figures out what they are, "Oh my ballerina."

Rey shakes her head. She is not a ballerina, she is a soloist, first soloist, to be exact, next only to a ballerina - the principal female dancer, the highest rank in a dancing company. People often make this mistake and it annoys her to no end.

She would probably make principal within three years if not for all the raping that's been distracting her. At this rate, she worries that she would be demoted to a second soloist or even part of the corps de ballet.

But her train of thought stops the moment he pulls the crotch patch of the leotard together, instead of moving it to the side like the last time, he wedges the fabric between her soft folds, pulling it back and force to create pressure and friction, thus stimulating her small labia and clit hood through her tights.

The rough friction makes her pussy swollen and tender. She is soon dripping wet, embarrassingly aroused. 

Damn her biology, or hormones. No, damn her rapist.

He then moves the leotard to the side, and tries to finger her hole through the stretchy fabric, but it won't give easily, which begins to frustrate him.

Despite her own dilemma, she snickers inward, ballet tights are very stretchy but much firmer and thicker than flimsy pantyhose. It cannot be ripped open by hand easily.

But her smugness disappears the moment the man noses her hairline and chuckles, and then he pulls out a black bobby pins from her hair with his teeth. It's a normal looking pin, the kind that is frequently used by dancers to keep their buns in place. It is not even two inches long, but it's sharp and ridgy. Then it is a matter of drilling a hole through the fabric and then ripping the crotch open along the seam.

Then he teases her now bare pussy lips with the smooth cold metal. She is so shocked that she almost forgets to breathe for five seconds.

When he moves it to her clit, he whispers in that deep voice, "Do you know 'clitoris' is a Greek word that means 'key'?"

Rey shakes her heard. She may have created a makeshift lockpicks by straightening out a bobby pin to pick the lock in her youth. But she doubts that's what he meant.

"Let's try to unlock the entrance to your secret garden, huh."

She tries to close her thighs, but his hand sticks between her legs.

Slowly, the man uses his fingers to make sure her clit is hooded and pinches her labia together. Then there is a moment of rustles inside her pants, the next thing Rey knows is something cold and hard latches onto her clit hood and her labia and tightens its grid.

Oh no, the bastard uses the bobby pin as an improvised clit clip, clenching her most sensitive part.

No. She tries to shake her head and keeps struggling against his confinement, but the more violently she moves, the pin clenches tighter, so she stops moving at once.

And then, she feels the man begins to flick his fingers against her engorged clit, and her legs go limp under such torture.

Damn, he knows her weakness too well.

He almost brings her to the edge with the bobby pin, but he removes it before she can climax. The bastard. Then it is his turn to be smug as he thrust his thick fingers inside her drooling vagina entrance and commences his even severer attack on her g-spot and stretches her open.

He is too good at this, Rey thinks again as he coaxes her first orgasm out of her within minutes and smears her overflowing juice on her ruined tights, declaring his victory.

Then the rapist inserts the pin back to her bun after he wipes her juice off the warm metal on her cheek lewdly. She will not be able to see bobby pins the same way from now on.

Her panic intensifies when he tugs down her dance pants, unzips his jeans, and pulls out his hard cock.

NOT AGAIN.

The rough denim fabric and the edges of the zipper are very uncomfortable against her butt.

Tears well up her eyes as he spreads her vulva, and then she feels the first intrusion of his blunt cock head into her vagina.

It doesn't hurt that much since the man has prepped her better with three fingers this time, but she hates herself for the easy penetration even more, even if it is still a tight fit.

The position means the penetration is smoother and deeper. She is soon impaling on his hard cock, to the hilt, she can feels his balls nudging against her entrance.

"My little cock warmer," he repeats what he said before.

Is he going to stay still again? She wonders.

She is basically sitting on his lap, and her toes barely touch the ground. She can not and will not use en pointe for purchase this time.

Rey doubts he will thrust up like a maniac to fuck her on the seat with so many people around them, that would be too suspicious.

The man casually takes out a pair of white wireless earpbuds from his pocket, and stuffs one in her left ear, the other in his right ear.

He then operates the settings on his phone, soon blast of rock music comes out of the earphone, the kind that she hates, but it obviously pleases him, because he starts to move along with the rhythm of the music.

He is too good at this, she thinks in dismay, because he is moving his body up and down, back and forth, creating frictions in her pussy rhythmically. And he is even nodding and singing softly along. The movements seem natural and subtle, and they won't even cause suspicions.

People around then probably think they are just two music lovers.

So far away from the fact.

She closes her eyes as she feels his finger teasing his clit, along with the rhythm, to the beat. 

Rey keeps sobbing quietly with her face and ears flushed, trying her best not to move along.

She reaches climax again along with him before the second song ends, milking the cock deep inside her.

He kisses her cheeks and licks away her tears happily. "My girl is so good to me."

The third one is another rock number that she hates.

She ponders in a daze, now that he has come, when will he let her go?

Her anticipation is up when she feels he lifts her slightly to pull out his soft spent cock after the fluttering and pulsing of her inner wall stops. 

Rey feels his fingers wiggle inside her vagina again, causing warm semen and her juice to flows out.

Why does he do that, does he really want to create a wet patch on the front of his jeans?

Then she understands with panic and dread that is even more intense than being fucked in the vagina.

Because the man moves his drenched fingers downward and begins to tease the tight ring of her anus.

NO! NO! NO!

She shakes her head violently as he pushes a knuckle inside her asshole. 

Rey doesn't want him to violate her ass, too, so she squeezes hard on his finger, fighting with resistance, not budging another inch.

The man shrugs after the second try goes in vain, then he moves his hand out of her pants.

She widens her eyes and watches the man unzips her gym bag to rummage through it.

The moment he takes out her bottle of vaseline, she knows she is doomed.

Most dancers carry a bottle or a tube of vaseline, because it can be used to make stray hair more manageable, highlight around their eyes, protect their toenails and heels.

And while it may seem odd, applying vaseline to the teeth is an old stage-hand trick, used to get dancers and other performers more enthusiastic about grinning.

Vaseline prevents their lips from sticking to the teeth, and is a common preventative measure taken when applying lipstick. 

Rey dreads about what will happen next, because petroleum jelly is also commonly used as a sexual lubricant, and isn’t strictly-speaking "harmful", however, she is not a fan of its texture and feel inside their body.

The lubricating and stretching process of her back entrance takes shorter than she expects and it is not exactly painful. 

But she doesn't want to admit that it is actually pleasurable since the man's thumb keeps coming back to stimulate her clit from time to time.

All the while, he kisses her face and the corner of her lips, and whispers encouragement and endearment tenderly, keeping up the pretense of a doting boyfriend.

But nonetheless, it is still rape, she keeps telling herself and keeps struggling, but his left arm keeps circling her waist in a vice.

Why is he so strong?

Why is he doing this to her?

The music has stopped, but they are still wearing the earbuds.

Now he has two fingers inside her back hole and thrusting in and out, in and out, rhythmically. 

Just when she thinks she can expect the next move, he changes the pattern. In, in, out. Out, out in. In, out in, out in out....

As a dancer, she hates everything that is not rhythmic.

When will her torment and suffering stops?

As he adds a third finger, she realizes one thing with despair, the man's cock is slowly hardening again.

He intends to fuck her in the ass, of course, the rapist will not satisfied with just fingering her.

And Rey doesn't want to be fucked in the ass, not with a cock of that monstrous size.

She struggles more violently, even though she knows her chance of escaping is slim, at least she will die trying.

"What is going on here?" comes a small voice near them, sounds like someone suddenly notice her distress. Finally!

Hope rises up like a spark of fire.

She moans as loudly as she can through the tape, moving her chin up to show her would-be-savior that her mouth has been sealed and she is being held captive.

"Is everything okay?" comes the voice again. It sounds concerned now.

Rey shakes her head like a puppy after a shower. Her tears are blurring her eyesight.

Her rapist stops thrusting, but his fingers stay inside her ass as he answers. "Yes. Everything is okay."

No, nothing is okay.

Rey shakes her head again, hoping to cause more attention.

"Good," comes the reply and it sinks her stomach to the floor as the voice continues. "'Cause I've been waiting for too fucking long."

She looks up, and up, and up, until she sees the tall man in an unbuckled knee length black coat standing right in front of them with his hands in pockets, spreading the coat like a small cape.

Wavy raven hair, lustful eyes, plump lips, lewd smirk, and slightly crooked teeth.

She is looking into the mirror image of the rapist behind her. 

Even their voices, the tones and the cadences are very similar.

The only differences are their clothes and hair styles. One is close to a buzz-cut, the other is wavy shoulder length.

Are they twins?

Her mind is coming to terms with the cruel fact.

She wonders if the wavy-hair was there for the second time, too.

No, perhaps the twins have both been present for all three times.

No wonder no one else has noticed her distress and the rape.

Because someone that big and tall has been standing right next to them, using a long coat to block the view to help the other twin.

They never go solo.

Partners in crime, indeed.

But what does he mean that he has been waiting for too long?

In her confusing train of thought, the man beneath her, the buzz-cut, has slowly pulled his fingers out of her ass.

Then he quickly props her to stand up and pushes her into the arms of the wavy-hair who immediately turns her around to face the buzz-cut and wraps her into his long black coat. 

The wavy-hair nudges her to step forward, until her knees touches the edge of the plastic chair and then he forces her to kneel onto the chair on each side of the buzz-cut's hips.

At this angle, her head is higher than the sitting buzz-cut, but her naked butt is right at the height of the other man's unmistakable bulging crotch.

The buzz-cut reaches up to caresses her face and whispers, "I of course will not let my brother take my sloppy seconds."

Then he faces his brother and tells him with a lewd smirk, "Enjoy."

Rey feels the man behind her lets out a familiar chuckles and shudders.

Next she hears the sound of something unzipping and fabric moving, soon she feels that he is slowly pressing the wet mushroom head of his hard cock inside her anus.

Their cocks are probably the same monstrous size too. 

Two monsters.

What makes her eyes water again, is not the penetration - thank god she has been well-lubed and well-stretched - but the fact that the buzz-cut has been preparing her to be raped by his brother.

This is not just a rape.

This is a gangbang.

This is something she’s only read about in the news or seen in porn.

This can't be happening in the subway with so many people around.

But it is happening, right now, right to her, right into her, right among crowds of cold indifferent New Yorkers who see nothing, hear nothing and say nothing to help her.

The shock, the humiliation, the violation turns her mind blank for a while.

The buzz-cut keeps caressing her hair and kissing her eyelids and cheeks and her chin, and then down her neck to her collar bones.

The wavy-hair behind her deepens the penetration with shallow thrusts and chuckles from time to time, exchanging something with his brother that she cannot understand.

If she thinks things can not get worse. 

She is wrong.

The buzz-cut suddenly unzips her hoodie, take a deep breath at the low neckline and shallow cleavage in front of him.

"Wonderful, my pretty little tits."

Rey winces in disgust, and to her regret, she is not wearing a bra under the leotards.

Not that there is much to hold up. But like most woman, she doesn't like to be reminded how small the size of her breasts are. Female ballet dancers are notoriously modest in the breast department, they just don't have enough body fat for that. They usually just insert two pasties or nipguards to cover them and prevent friction with clothing during practice. 

Rey had taken out the pasties after work and threw on her hoodies and dance pants to catch the subway.

And her nipples have probably been pebbled ever since she saw the face of the rapist. One of the rapists.

The buzz-cut pinches and mouths at both nipples, kneading her soft mounds through the thin stretchy fabric.

Then he tests the stretchiness of the leotard's straps by pulling them down from her shoulders to her arms, baring her breasts.

She can't believe she is being fucked like a bitch in heat with her tits out like this, tears keep streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, mama mia."

He latches onto one nipple immediately, burying his face in her chest, like an over-grown baby, no, a perverted rapist. 

The buzz-cut sucks and bites her nipple with his big mouth and pinches and twists the other with his thick fingers, and he does them with rough handling.

Her breasts are flushed and swollen and sore from all the torture.

"You tits jingle like little bunnies with nipples hard and red like rubies."

All the while, the wavy-hair continues his slow and subtle thrusts into her ass.

She almost prefers being fucked in the ass than being gnawed at the breasts.

The buzz-cut is not satisfied with playing with her nipples, because he moves one hand down to tease her clit and fingers her vagina again.

And he knows her sensitive spots too well. He keeps adding more fingers, four is her limit. And she can feel the bastard wiggling his fingertips against her inner wall to try to trace the outline of his brother’s cock in her back hole. And they chuckle at the same time when they feel each other’s presence, in her body.

They even move in sync, one thrusts in while the other slides out, making sure her holes are always stuffed. Have they no shame? What kind of brothers get off inside the same woman at the same time? The taboo and the double penetration is more than she can bear.

Rey bucks her hips against the fingers and the cock inside her two holes, not sure if she wants them to move slower to reduce the impact or move quicker to get it over sooner.

She squeezes her eyes shut as she feels the man behind her picks up his pace.

The wavy-hair finishes inside her ass soon afterwards with a grunt and pulls out.

The moment the bastard withdraws his fingers, she comes for the third time and squirts all over the man's lap, the chair and the floor.

But still, no one else notices this, or no one dares to interfere and help her.

She doesn't even bother to look around. There is no hope.

They even high-five.

The humiliation is beyond words. Is she just a plaything to them? Is this just a game for them? What kind of monsters gangrape people as a sport?

The climax leaves her exhausted and dizzy, she slumps onto the lap of the buzz-cut, who maneuvers her to face the wavy-hair again and drags her dance pants further down to her ankles, so that she can straddle over his lap with her back against his flannel shirt, her knees are bent at an awkward angle, come still dripping from her asshole.

Then the buzz-cut readily pushes the head his hard cock inside her pussy again.

All the while, the wavy-hair is standing close and covering them with his coat, so the buzz-cut can hold onto her waist and move her downward to impale on his dick.

Then she feels the tape sealing her mouth is peeled off. She opens her lips quickly and gags out the disgusting panties inside her mouth. 

She hears the man in front of her snicker and feels something wet and blunt nudging against the corner of her mouth. 

Rey opens her eyes immediately in more panic.

NO! NO! NO!

The wavy-hair is trying to put his thick dick, the one that has just fucked her ass raw and is still dampened by lube and her fluid, into her mouth.

She shuts her mouth tight and shakes her head with tears, she doesn't even want to smell that, not to mention taste that.

But the man slaps her face with his filthy cock and pinches her nose to stop her breathing. Rey has to open her mouth after a minute for some much needed air.

And then the dirty dick is shoved into her mouth, and it goes deeper and deeper, until it hits the back of her throat. The girth is so thick that she can't even bite it down.

The cock in her vagina keeps thrusting up and down, while the cock in her mouths keeps thrusting back and forth.

They work in tandem, and slowly quicken the pace and intensify the force.

The spit-roasting leaves her a convulsing mess. Her eyes roll back, saliva flows down her chin.

Her mind and her sight are all a blur.

When the cock leaves her mouth, her throat is too sore to scream. She is going to be sick and vomit until she tastes bile.

When the PA signals that they have reached the terminal, her holes, her face and her breasts are full of sticky semen.

Rey weakly glances around through her cum-clouded eyesight, and is surprised to see that they are the only three passengers left in the train.

When did that happen? Literally no one will help her now.

She is too worn out to put up a fight, or think clearly any more.

Her knees are like liquid and her arms are useless even after they untie her hands.

She feels so filthy and worthless. All she wants to do is go home and sleep and never wake up again.

Both men tuck their cocks inside their pants before smearing them clean on her hoodie.

In her stupor, they wipe her face and her privates with the panties, tug her pants back and zip up her hoodie.

Her leotard and tights are beyond repair. She should probably burn them.

The wavy-hair pulls her stand up, hoists her hip up as if she weighs nothing, and he wraps her arms around his shoulder, her legs around his waist.

She leans her face on his shoulder bonelessly, tears streaming from her cheeks to his neck, the musky smell is suffocating her.

The buzz-cut puts on his blue coat, puts away the earbuds and her panties and stands up, too, his hand carrying her gym bag.

One of the twins says, "Let's bring this cum bucket home, Junior."

"Good idea, Senior."

Then they walk out of the subway together, into the dark night.

Chapter Text

On the Way Home

"Have you fucked that kink out of your system, sweetie?" One of the brothers asks.

"Maybe," Rey mumbles, not bothering to open her eyes, she is too well-fucked and is still basking in the afterglow.

But she knows it's Ben, the senior. She can tell the differences between the twins with her eyes close.

"I was so scared the whole time," Kylo adds. "I really don't want to be caught role-playing a rapist in a subway."

"Yeah. It will be really hard to explain to the police if we are caught," Ben says. “Literally with our pants down.”

"Good pun," Rey laughs. "But the thrill is half the fun."

Kylo chuckles. "That's why we work as a team. At least one of us is covering our asses."

"When did the other passengers get off?" Rey asks.

"Right before 'Enjoy'."

"That high five is a little bit over the top, though."

"We just can't help it, right, Junior," Ben smirks.

"But you got to admit you have a very nice piece of ass."

"You will give me new tights," Rey mumbles again. "And a foot massage."

"I will do anything you want, sweetie," he palms her ass. "But the tights are a nice surprise."

"Can't make it too easy for you."

"Yeah, because skirts are really too easy to access."

"The bobby pin is a good improvise," Rey says. "And I love learning new words."

"Thank you. I aim to educate."

"But please don't use vaseline as lube next time, because it will be hell to clean afterwards."

"I would always love to clean your ass."

"The earbuds are a nice touch too, you literally played it by ear," Rey comments. “But let me choose the music next time.”

"Of course."

"So I was thinking, next time, I will be the chijo," Rey says. "A female chikan."

"What? Again?" Ben says.

"I will be the one to rub against Mr-Oh-I'm-So-Decent's cock on his way home with his coworker, making him so horny and so hard that he can't help but come in his pants."

"Really, can't I come in your panties or between your legs?" Ben says. "At least give me a hand job, you are the chijo, that's practically your job."

"You are with your coworker, remember?"

"Yeah, that's me," Kylo says. "Do you want your colleague to know what a pervert you are?"

"Maybe I should rub against my male coworker instead, you know, because I have been developing a crush on him," Ben deadpans.

"Oh, now that's something to look forward too." Kylo kisses Ben's cheek cheerfully. "Because your coworker might be a closet case or a bi who is engaged to his hot girl friend." 

"Who is a chijo that is having a thing with his coworker," Rey adds. "I may need a strap-on."

"Wow, the plot thickens," Ben says. "I would like to do a teabag first."

"Maybe we should use vibrators next time."

"Good idea."

"Any new ideas for a rapist?" Rey asks. "Someone who doesn't have a mother complex? Because my tits are actually hurting."

"Oh, poor baby, here, let me kiss them better," he hoists her up in his arms higher, and buries his face in her chest to play motorboating.

Rey giggles.

"Do you mind a turkey slap? Slap some sense into your grandfather complex head?"

"No. I am totally okay with that," Ben answers. "Some pearl necklace would be a nice touch too."

"I don't mind a facial," Rey says. "But avoid getting your come in my eyes next time, please."

"Duly noted." 

Rey nods, "Maybe I can also get a pair of glasses, like a sexy librarian or an office lady."

"That's nice," Kylo says, "Almost as good as a high school student."

"Maybe I can be the one with father issues," Rey says.

"Does it mean we can finally break in that cute uniform?" Ben says excitingly. "That pleated miniskirt and thigh-highs are to die for."

"Let me be the daddy this time please," Kylo asks. "Do I need to start growing my beard?"

"You can both be my daddies," Rey says. "But I need you clean-shaven, I don't want any more burning on my pussy after you eat me out."

”Does it mean I get to shave your pussy bare again?”

”If you are a good daddy, you will of course make sure your baby girl is all clean and smooth.”

"I can be the stern teacher that you have been crushing so hard," Ben says. "And I intentionally give you a D, so you come into my office."

"For your D?" Rey asks.

"To ask me whether there is any thing you can do to improve your grades and yes, of course you want my D."

"A blow job, obviously," Rey says. "And then get dicked down over the desk."

"But then a colleague knocks at the door, and you have to hide under his desk, while he is talking to his colleague," Ben says.

"Me, again," Kylo says. "Who finds out your affairs and demands sex for return."

"Of course you do," Rey smiles. "And I am so embarrassed since I am still half-naked with my panties around my ankle."

"We have a threesome in the office then," Ben says. 

"I call the dibs on your vagina," Kylo says. "I want to have sloppy seconds this time."

Ben shrugs, "I still get the better end."

"Can we spit-roast you again?" Kylo asks.

Rey nods. "Add some snowballing and it's classic porn."

"With a vibrator in your ass too?"

"Good idea. But it's too creepy for a male teacher to have a dildo in his desk, don't you think?"

"Not if he is also secretly fucking his male coworkers," Kylo says, "Yeah, me again. The ultimate coworker who will conveniently fit into any office story."

”I would love some good old fashioned felching after I fuck your ass,” Ben says.

”No problem. But I will need to run an enema first,” Kylo answers.

”I can do it for you,” Rey winks. "Since you did my last one."

“That’s my girl, so helpful,” Kylo smirks.

"Maybe I can spank you, with a triangle ruler," Ben says. "Since I'm a math teacher."

"Good, I hate those English professor cliches," Rey says, "So many classic lines to integrate into the narrative."

"You will be too busy sucking cocks," Kylo says, "Let me deal with the lines. I can recite some sonnets if you like." 

"But don't you try fucking my mouth with two cocks at the same time, I can't take that," Rey says, "Because you have monstrous cocks."

Both brothers smile smugly.

"But you can take double penetration like a pro," Kylo says.

Rey shrugs.

"And one of us accidentally knock you up," Ben says. "Breeding kink."

Rey winks, "Now I am all confused about who is the baby daddy."

"I will say I will take care of you and let you live with me," Ben says, "But it turns out I am an abuser and a crackhead."

"Who has..." Kylo says and then stops. "Sorry, forgot about the mother complex."

"Poor teenage mom, what should she do?" Rey ponders.

"Run to her English teacher for help?" Kylo offers.

"Or her widower daddy who has been trying to get into her panties for about 15 years now," Rey suggests. "Very textbook pedophile."

"Who has been confessing this to his therapist," Kylo suggests. "Who is manipulating him or just trying to roofy the girl."

"And blackmail him," Rey says. "He might have to offer his daughter's body or her baby to pay back."

"And pregnant sex," Ben says, "Sexual grooming right from the start."

Kylo ponders, "Now that's what I call character development."

"Wait, who exactly is the daddy?" Ben asks. "The math teacher, the English teacher, the widower, or the therapist?"

"No, it is in fact her cousin," Rey says. "A veteran who has PTSD."

"We have turned this into a mystery thriller," Kylo says.

"So the girl ends up with her cousin?"

"No, it gets better. She gets kidnapped by the cousin's next-door neighbor, whose kid the girl has been babysitting," Ben winks. "A divorcee, and a pediatrician."

"Maybe infantilism? Poor teenage pregnant mama, she has gone through so many traumas in her life already, she just wants to be a baby that doesn't need to worry about anything. Give me a pacifier and a bottle, please," Rey jokes. "Who wants to change my diaper?"

"If we are going to play watersports, I want you to piss onto my feet," Ben says.

"Okay, but don't press your toes on my vagina after that," Rey says, "I don't want another UTI."

"I can play doctor if you like, medical fetish will bring new depth to the story," Kylo says, "Then I would be the therapist, the pediatrician, and the gynecologist. What a busy man."

"Who has also been secretly fucking his twin brother from 12 years old," Ben says. "And giving him urethral soundings."

"Wow, that is DEEP!" Kylo says. "And an easy way to contact UTI."

"So let the gynecologist and his twin ogle at their adopted sister who turns out to be the love child of their mother and uncle," Rey adds. "After one of the brothers knocked her up."

"Now that's a plot twist," Ben says.

“Set the background during World World II in the camp, add a priest, no, a rabbi, some sad music and you will win an Oscar.”

”I prefer the Cold War era.”

”I can fake a very convincing Russian accent,” Rey says. “I am pretty sure my first ballet teacher was a socialist.”

”Now that is the child grooming that I am most scared of, communist propaganda.”

”Oh, and the untamable inner conflict of capitalism is a pretty nice premise for a sugar daddy fantasy.”

”Yeah, just keep burning money for a nice piece of ass, you dirty old man,” Rey jokes.

”No, an oil baron who seeks to revenge, so he seduces his enemy’s teenage granddaughter, fills her belly with his festering seed and sires a boy! The final revenge, H R Pickens!” Ben howls.

"Who is H R Pickens?" Rey asks.

"Exactly!" Ben smirks.

There Will Be Blood, very classic,” Kylo says. Of course he will be the one to understand the reference. "But what if the boy has daddy issues too?"

"Or is having an affair with his young horny step-mother who cannot be satisfied by the shaking old man and his foot fetish," Rey suggests.

”Like father like son with a slice of cockholding,” Ben smiles. “I need to get a gray wig and a cane.”

"Oh, will you cane me?" Rey asks enthusiastically.

"I can even stick it up your ass if you want."

"Nice. Just make sure you don't stick it into any dead birds beforehand," Rey says. "I know how you oil barons like to stab random things when you can't stab people's backs or crush them into the ground."

"I would not mind some outdoor pounding, though."

"Or in a swimming pool, a vacation for the English teacher who is having a writer's block, a one-night-stand that he can never forget?"

"And turns out the girl is his half-sister?" Rey says. "Who obviously has daddy issues."

"Just like the writer himself," Ben turns to Kylo. "You will be the daddy this time, and fuck your son and your daughter with guilty pleasure."

"Another incestuous threesome, yeah," Rey snickers. "Bring out your smoldering pensive look as you think about your ex-girlfriend."

"The one who had been raped by you before marrying your brother, that's the reason the writer and the girl are half-siblings, in fact, they are cousins too," Ben says, "A little voyeurism goes a long way."

"Do we really need to make it that complicate? Can't you be satisfied by old-fashioned simple sibling or cousin incest?" Kylo says. "This is a rape fantasy, it's not Inception. We have negotiated like, ten plots already, it's like Russian dolls, one storyline inside another."

"Who cares about the plot? We are not Christopher Nolan or François Ozon. Just remember to use a lot of lube, everything will be fine."

"Tell me something I didn't know already."

Rey smiles into his neck. The familiar musky smell is soothing.

Rey doesn't have a boyfriend.

She has TWO boyfriends.

Who are as kinky as her.

They are the solo trio, the Solo twins and the soloist.

Partners in crime.