My Wild Train Journey Ch. 01

Author's Note:

Hey readers,

This is my very first story on Literotica. It's a slow burn--but soaked in lust and layered with depth. It's not just about Divya's transformation, but also the unapologetic past that shaped her into the woman who'll soon take on 48 strangers in a moving train--without fear, and still craving more.

Every scene is here for a reason. So read till the end. Trust me--it'll be worth every second.

If you enjoy it, please rate and comment. That's how stories like this survive. And how Divya gets the gangbang she truly deserves.

- Anjali

Hey everyone, I'm Anjali--and this is my very first story here on Literotica. I've never published anything before, but trust me, I've lived a life dripping with filthy confessions and slutty, cock-stuffed memories--each one dirtier than the last, and trust me, I'm aching to spill every single one and leave you begging for more. For now, enjoy my first fictional piece--one that's soaked in the kind of filthy, gangbang-fueled fantasies that leave me moaning, legs spread, and fingers buried deep, wishing it all were real. The story follows Divya, but every nasty little scene comes straight from my own raw, aching desires. Reality may hold me back for now, but fiction lets me be the cum-drenched, cock-hungry slut I truly am. So enjoy this filthy ride... and don't worry, my real-life slut stories are cumming soon--hard, messy, and unfiltered

Divya was a slut--and she knew it. She didn't need to say the word out loud. Her body said it. Her walk said it. Her wardrobe screamed it. Every outfit she wore was a calculated invitation. Her tops were always a size too tight, hugging her 38D tits like they were gift-wrapped for the next pair of hungry eyes. She never wore a bra unless absolutely forced--just enough bounce to keep men guessing where to look. Her skirts were short, dangerously short, barely covering her ass when she bent over--because that's exactly what she wanted. And her sarees? Pure sin in six yards. Always sheer. Always draped low, the pallu pinned just enough to flash deep, jiggling cleavage with every step. Backless blouses, deep cuts, thin straps--cleavage was a necessity, not an option. Divya didn't just dress sexy. She dressed like she needed to be stared at. Like the world was her mirror and every man was part of the fantasy. And it worked. The stares, the murmurs, the hard cocks hiding behind newspapers--they didn't embarrass her. They fed her. She called herself a free spirit, but the truth was filthier. She didn't want freedom--she wanted submission. Use. Heat. Shame. Her dirtiest fantasy? A public gangbang. Dozens of cocks. No names. No limits. Just her, cum dripping, ruined, and fully seen. She touched herself to that thought almost every night... sometimes twice.

Her husband, Pankaj, knew she'd been "easy" back in college--or at least, that's what the rumors said. But he never heard the real stories. The truth wasn't just wild--it was filthy. Divya wasn't the girl who flirted at parties; she was the one caught sucking cock behind them. Boys talked about her like a legend--one you hoped to experience, but never expected to keep. And yet, Pankaj married her anyway. He liked bold, sexy girls--tight clothes, loud energy, curves that turned rooms quiet. But he had no idea how deep that boldness ran in Divya. He thought he was marrying a confident woman. He didn't realize he was marrying a cock-hungry slut who'd taken more men than she could count--and still came home smiling, playing the perfect wife like nothing had ever happened.

She was a little chubby, sure, but her curves were sculpted where it counted--hips built to bounce, tits that made heads turn, and an ass that never needed help being noticed. He loved her laugh, her bite, her don't-give-a-fuck attitude. But if he knew the kind of things she still did behind his back... he might've married her faster. Or not at all.

Because Divya hadn't changed.

Divya hadn't stopped taking cock--she just got better at hiding it. Smarter. Selective. And the thrill only grew with the secrecy. Every time she dropped to her knees for someone else, she told herself it was just a release. Just her body. But deep down, she knew: she needed this. She needed to be watched, wanted, used. Needed to be owned--just not by one man.

She wasn't cheating.

She was just being herself

She used every opportunity to tease, to seduce--whether it was bending just a little extra in the kitchen when her brother-in-law passed by, or letting the neighbours get a peek down her blouse as she watered the plants. She had to be careful now. Living with her in-laws meant keeping the slut in check, at least on the surface. They never commented on her sarees or dress choices--too scared, too polite--but their eyes said it all. Still, caution was necessary. Pankaj was rich. Very rich. And Divya had no plans of going back to work. Playing the perfect wife under his roof meant she had to be discreet with her filth, but it didn't mean she had to stop. Behind that pallu, she was still the same cock-hungry girl from college--just smarter about hiding it.

The day had finally come--I had a train to catch. The Guwahati-Mumbai LTT Express. Originally, I had booked a flight, but thanks to the devastating Assam floods in June 2022, the airport was shut down. I could've been annoyed, but instead, I smiled to myself and thought--why not a train journey? It had been forever since I last traveled by train, and this was going to be a long one. A full 49 hours of travel. Nearly two full days on rails.

While booking my ticket in a rush, I had accidentally selected "male" under the gender option. I didn't even notice until the confirmation hit my inbox. It made me chuckle, but then I realized I was traveling alone--and in 3AC class, the only one available when I booked. Just in case it raised questions, I asked Pankaj what to do. He was as casual as ever--"Just inform the station master when you get there, it won't be a problem." Easy for him to say--he wasn't the one stepping into a 3AC coach full of strangers with 'M' printed on her ticket, a clingy white sundress hugging her hips, and just enough cleavage showing to keep every pair of eyes exactly where I wanted them. Still, I figured I'd swing by and speak to the station staff once I arrived--better safe than sorry..

I'd never spent more than one night on a train before--just those quick college trips from Nagpur to Pune, or a family ride here and there before marriage. Always with someone. Always behaving. My train journeys had rules. Eyes down. Legs crossed. Saree pinned tight. Because I was never alone.

But this time? Forty-nine hours. Alone. Unchecked. No husband. No in-laws. No one watching my every move. And suddenly, I wasn't just boarding a train--I was releasing something.

I've never been a slut on a train... but that's only because I've never had the chance.

Now I do.

And if the stares at the station were any hint, this isn't going to be a journey. It's going to be a 49-hour performance--starting on the platform... and climaxing somewhere deep in coach B5..

I hadn't packed with a train journey in mind. I'd only brought a few body-hugging one-piece dresses and some heavy sarees for my friend's wedding. I spent three extra days exploring the Northeast like a tourist, burning through my wardrobe one slutty outfit at a time. Now, I was left with only two options: a red mini-dress and a white sundress.

The red one? That was dangerous. Barely-there straps, skin-tight fabric, a hemline that flirted with indecency. I'd bought it to make a statement--but even I hadn't found the courage to wear it out in public. Not yet. It wasn't just revealing--it was a walking scandal. And wearing it on a train full of strangers? It felt insane. Or irresistible.

So I chose the white sundress instead. Full-length. Breezy. Soft. The neckline dipped just enough to flash my 38D cleavage without screaming for attention--though I knew it would get it anyway. Not the boldest piece in my closet, but still slutty enough to turn heads.

Well, you can imagine. And if you've read this far, you already know how my wardrobe tends to lean--tight, short, and made for sin.

The train was scheduled to depart at 4:50 PM. It was just 2:30 when I arrived, with nothing better to do. My friend, the bride I'd come to attend the wedding of, had already left for her sasural (in-laws)l. She had begged me not to "act slutty" at her wedding, and I'd kept myself mostly in check. But that also meant I hadn't made any new friends in Guwahati. And now, here I was--heels clicking, hips swaying, my white dress hugging my curves just right--as I stepped into the station alone, dragging my two suitcase behind me. I checked the time, then slowly made my way toward the waiting hall, every step echoing with quiet confidence... and just a hint of mischief

The waiting hall was stuffy and smelled faintly of sweat, old metal, and chai. A few pedestal fans creaked lazily from the ceiling, doing more noise than cooling. Families were spread across benches, bags stacked like miniature forts, kids chasing each other barefoot across the tiles. And then there was me--sinking into a corner seat, crossing my legs, sundress stretching just enough to flash a little thigh. I knew the eyes would come. They always did.

Within minutes, I could feel it--almost everyone in the hall had turned their attention toward me. Subtle glances. Lingering stares. Pretending not to look but failing miserably. I didn't need to do much. Just sit, shift, and exist in that dress. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin, the neckline teasing a generous view of my cleavage, and the way it rode up my thighs when I crossed my legs? Deliberate. Well, you can imagine.

Feeling the heat between my legs grow with every stolen stare. The red dress would've made this far worse... or better. But the white one was proving to be its own silent weapon. A few more men had started to notice me now. One older guy, maybe in his forties, stood by the wall pretending to look at the train schedule but kept peeking. His eyes dropped to my chest, then shot back up as I met them with a smirk. I knew exactly what I was doing--and so did he.

Two college-aged boys sat just across from me. The younger one in a hoodie kept stealing glances, pretending not to. The taller one in a grey T-shirt didn't even bother hiding it--his eyes had already scanned every inch of me like he was trying to memorize it for later. I could feel them crawling over my chest, freezing on my legs when I shifted. I uncrossed and crossed again--slowly--just to watch their reactions. The quiet, boyish lust made me smile.

They weren't going to talk to me, though. Not with all the aunties and uncles around. Maybe they were too shy. Maybe they thought I was too "respectable." Poor things had no idea they were sitting across from a cum-dripping housewife with a checklist of public fantasies.

And I hadn't fucked or sucked anyone at a railway station yet.

Maybe it was time to fix that.

So I leaned forward, letting my neckline dip just enough to make their eyes flicker again, and smiled. "Hey, I'm Divya. I was thinking of grabbing some chips and water... the stalls are a bit far though. Would you mind watching my bags for a few minutes?" I nudged one of the suitcases gently with my foot. I had two with me--stuffed with heavy wedding sarees and a few gold ornaments. Too bulky to drag around, and too tempting to leave behind.

The taller one immediately offered, "We can go get it for you, didi. Just tell us what you want." The other quickly nodded, eager to please.

I gave them a warm smile--part sweet, part wicked. "Aww, so sweet of you both. But no need. I should stretch a bit anyway. I've been sitting forever " I paused, playing with the strap of my dress, "... I have to check with the station master too. I booked my ticket under the wrong gender--put male instead of female by mistake. Just want to make sure I won't get in trouble for it later." I laughed lightly, flicking my hair off my shoulder. "Besides, I want to browse myself. Maybe find something tasty."

I rose slowly, giving them the view they clearly hoped for. My sundress clung to my curves as I adjusted the strap casually, pretending not to notice their eyes on my chest and thighs. "Thank you, though. You two are sweet. Keep an eye on my bag, yeah?"

I turned and walked off, letting my hips swing naturally, each step echoing with confidence and just the right amount of temptation. I wasn't just bored--I was aching to be watched. And I knew I wanted everyone's full attention.

I stepped out of the waiting hall, the heat outside hitting me like a soft, sticky wall. The fabric of my white sundress clung just a little tighter with the humidity, swaying around my legs as I walked across the platform toward the station master's office. The stares followed immediately. Men turning their heads, pretending to look elsewhere a second later. Some subtle, others shameless. A vendor paused mid-gesture with a customer, eyes tracing the curve of my hips. I didn't rush. I let them look. My walk had purpose--and every sway of my hips was deliberate

The station master's office was in a small brick building tucked near the center of the platform. I knocked once and stepped inside. A wall fan buzzed loudly, barely cutting through the heat. The man behind the desk was in his fifties, balding, dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. As I entered, his eyes rose from the register--and stopped right at my chest. No hesitation, no flicker of guilt. Just a bold, lingering stare, like my boobs were the only thing worth talking to.

"Yes?" he asked, but his gaze stayed planted in the valley of my cleavage, as if my tits were the ones doing the talking. His tone was flat, but his stare was laser-focused. Very few men ever stared that directly--most at least pretended to blink or look away. But not him. He was having a full-blown conversation with my boobs. And I wasn't even mad. I smiled inside. I loved the attention.

"I just wanted to confirm," I said sweetly, shifting my posture so my chest lifted just a little higher, "I booked my ticket online and selected the wrong gender--male instead of female. It's 3AC class, and I'm traveling alone. Will that cause any issue during checking?"

He finally blinked and looked up at my face--but not for long. "No problem," he said casually. "It happens a lot with online bookings. TTEs usually ignore it."

He shrugged. . But just so you know... when the system sees 'male' during auto-allotment, it usually clusters you with male passengers. Especially in 3AC. That's just how the algorithm works."

His eyes dropped again. Back to my chest. And now I froze--but not out of worry.

Out of heat.

So I'd be in a coach full of men. Surrounded by strangers. For forty-nine hours. Wearing this.

Something clenched low in my stomach. Not fear.

Anticipation.

I smiled politely, thanked him, and turned away.

But inside?

I was soaked.

Dripping, throbbing, aching in all the worst--and best--ways.

I'd never been in a room full of strange men for this long.

Not for hours. Not overnight.

But forty-nine hours?

My pussy pulsed at the thought.

No husband. No in-laws. No rules. Just a sealed metal box on wheels, packed with men and filthy possibilities.

I was soaked not just from arousal... but from imagining all the things that could happen if even one of them decided to test my limits.

And god help me--I wouldn't stop him

As I stepped back into the open platform, my body tingled. My thighs pressed slightly with every step, the fabric brushing between them. I was alone. Alone and on public transport for the next two days, surrounded by strangers, and this trip was already lighting something inside me. I wasn't even in my coach yet, and the fire had already started

I made my way toward the vendor stalls, choosing the same one where I'd caught that man staring earlier. He'd stopped mid-sale to eye me when I passed on my way to the station master's office--like his customer had disappeared, and all he could see was the sway of my hips. It only felt right to give him a closer look now.

As I approached, his posture straightened instantly. His eyes locked onto mine--and then, predictably, dropped straight to my chest. My sundress might have been full-length, but it hugged my curves in all the right places, and the heat made it cling tighter with every step. His gaze lingered on my cleavage, then dipped lower to my thighs, before finally dragging back up to my face. Barely.

"Cold drink," I said, smiling softly, "and two packets of chips. Masala, if you have."

He nodded quickly and turned to grab the items, but he wasn't the only one who had caught his attention. In the minute or two I spent at the stall, at least five more men drifted over. A stall that had been nearly empty just moments ago now suddenly had a line of "customers"--all of them pretending to browse, to pick snacks, to decide on drinks they clearly weren't planning to buy. I didn't even have to turn to know what was happening. I could feel it. The weight of their eyes. The fake coughs. The stolen glances. The way one man fumbled with a packet of biscuits for a full minute without actually picking it up.

I glanced briefly at the vendor. He met my eyes, just for a second, and in that quiet exchange, we both knew the truth: they weren't here for the snacks. They were here for the view. For me. And god, I loved it.

**He handed me the cold drink and chips, his fingers brushing mine, warm and slow. I didn't pull away. I held his gaze just long enough to make him uncomfortable--or maybe just hard. That same wicked smile played on my lips. The kind that said, Yes, I know. And I like it. **

I turned and walked away, the crowd parting just enough to let me pass. My hips swayed naturally, but I knew what effect it had. I could feel the slickness between my thighs with every step. I hadn't even boarded the train yet, and I was already soaked. The looks, the unspoken lust, the way men kept orbiting me like moths around a flame--every second was corrupting me further. For better or worse? Who knows. But I was too far gone to care.

I settled back into my seat in the waiting hall, the lingering weight of all those stares still clinging to my skin like heat. It was 3:40 PM--over an hour since I walked into the station, and just over an hour left until my train. Time to breathe. Think. Let my body cool off.

Though let's be honest--cooling off wasn't going to happen. Not with how wet I already was. I glanced over at the two boys again.

They were still there.

Still stealing glances. Still pretending to scroll through their phones.

And I thought, if these two don't grow a pair and start talking to me soon, I'm going to walk onto that train with soaked panties and wasted potential.

Because at this point?

Fucking them wasn't just possible--it was on the table.

And if they didn't make the move soon...

I damn well would.

The taller boy beside me glanced over and finally spoke. "Where are you headed, didi?"

For a moment, I didn't answer.

Because in my head? I was already unzipping his jeans.

God, college boys were so easy. So eager. So stupidly polite.

All it took was a little eye contact and a hint of cleavage, and they were already imagining their cocks in my mouth.

And maybe that's exactly what I wanted.

It was already 3:45. My train would be here soon at 4:50. And who knew what kind of company I'd get inside coach B5?

Old men. Families. Aunties.

This? This was the moment.

If I wanted action before boarding--real action--I had to move fast.

And these two? They were perfect. Naïve, horny, curious. Easy to tease. Easier to seduce.

So I made a decision. I was going to steer this conversation straight into the gutter--slowly, wetly, one filthy line at a time. I'd tease. I'd tempt. I'd let them imagine fucking me without ever saying it out loud.

And if that didn't work?

Then fuck it--I'd just ask them straight-up if they wanted their cocks sucked before the train arrived.

But first, I'd give them the honor.

A chance to earn it.

To say something dirty. To flirt back.

I smiled and said. "Mumbai. Full ride--49 hours. Guwahati-Mumbai LTT Express. I'm in 3AC."

His eyebrows lifted. "That's a long one."

"Yeah," I said with a soft laugh. "Was supposed to fly, but the floods messed up those plans. So... train it is."

They offered me cold drink, I took

"So... what about you two? Just here to hydrate helpless women? Or is this part of your 'how to impress a hot stranger' college assignment?

"The shorter one smiled, trying not to stare. "I'm Gaurav."

The taller one didn't hesitate. "Harsh." He looked me straight in the eyes. "And you're definitely not helpless. Just dangerously unsupervised."

I laughed softly, leaning back in my seat. "Divya," I said, letting the name roll off my tongue. "And if I'm unsupervised, that's on purpose. It's nice, you know... not being watched for once."

Harsh smirked. "Are you usually watched?"

I shrugged, tracing a finger lazily along the bottle's neck. "Let's just say I'm used to being... observed. Judged. Fantasized about." I took a sip, then added with a wink, "And sometimes that's half the fun."

Gaurav shifted in his seat, clearly flustered. "We're on the Brahmaputra Express," he said quickly. "It leaves at 4:55. We're getting off at Delhi."

I smirked, sipping from my drink.

"What a coincidence... my train leaves at 4:50. Looks like we've got each other's company until then."

I raised an eyebrow, lips curling. "Delhi, huh? That's a long ride... plenty of time to be good boys." I leaned in just a little, letting my voice drip. "But wouldn't it be more fun to misbehave now-- before your train even arrives?" My eyes moved between them slowly, like I was deciding who'd break first.

Harsh chuckled, licking his lips before answering. "Honestly? With you sitting in front of us, behaving sounds like the wrong strategy."

I let out a teasing gasp. "Careful, Harsh. I might start thinking you're flirting."

He grinned. "I'm not flirting. I'm observing. You're... hard to miss."

I leaned in slightly, dropping my voice to a low hum. "Good. Because I dress for reactions. And between you two..." I gave a slow glance at both of their laps. "... I'm already getting wet. So thanks."

That made Gaurav freeze. Harsh blinked, then recovered with a half-smile that was far cockier than before. "You're dangerous, Divya."

I licked a bit of cold drink off my thumb. "Not dangerous. Just... underutilized."

I licked a bit of cold drink off my thumb and gave them a wicked little smile. "You know... watching my bags, fetching me drinks, sitting all polite like little gentlemen..." I dragged my eyes slowly between their laps. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were both trying hard not to fuck me."

A beat.

Harsh didn't flinch. Just smirked.

"Well, I'm not trying to be good."

I laughed softly, leaning back. "Relax. I'm just kidding."

But I wasn't. Not entirely.

A pause passed between us, thick and electric.

A moment passed, and then the taller one smiled. "Honestly, you don't look like you're dressed for 49 hours of Indian Railways."

I snapped my head toward him, eyes sharp, smile gone.

"What the fuck do you mean by that?"

The words came out harsher than I expected--but I didn't care.

"You think you're original? I've been hearing shit like that since I got married. From neighbors, relatives... even my husband. And now you?"

But inside, something flared.

It wasn't the first time I'd heard a comment like that. Not even close.

Back when I'd just gotten married, everyone had something to say about how I dressed. That I was too bold, too flashy, too available. Even Pankaj--sweet, soft Pankaj--had warned me gently to tone it down, just a little.

And then there was that day.

The day I bought that red dress. The day I thought I could be sexy and confident and married all at once.

I wore it for a rooftop New Year's party. Slipped it on, did my makeup, stepped out of my room to head to the car where Pankaj waited--only to be stopped. My mother-in-law's voice was polite. Her words weren't.

'Beta, yeh dress thoda zyada nahi hogaya

( Is this what you're wearing in front of everyone? )

She said it with a smile. But there were fifty guests in the living room, and her eyes told me exactly what she thought.

There was nothing polite about that moment.

I had worn that red dress for a rooftop party. A party night out with Pankaj, my husband and his friends. Not for some surprise house gathering. It's not my fault his family had fifty people camped out in the hall like it was some moral checkpoint.

I wasn't dressed for them--I was dressed to make my husband hard before we even reached the party. And not just him.

I wanted his friends to stare too. I wanted their eyes glued to my tits, their thoughts slipping filthier with every drink. I wanted to be the slut they couldn't stop looking at all night.

Center of attention. Center of every dirty thought. For the whole party

That dress wasn't an outfit--it was bait. And I was ready to walk into that rooftop party like a walking hard-on, soaking up every hungry glance like it was foreplay.

So fuck yes, I wore it for the stares. That was the whole point.

And they ruined it. Not because I was wrong--

But because I was too much for their goddamn living room

And if that meant flashing a little ass and bouncing tits as I crossed the living room... well, maybe they shouldn't have turned the house into a party zone.

Especially when most of the guests were close family friends--people who followed me on Instagram.

People who'd double-tapped bikini pics where I was showing way more than this dress dared.

My mother-in-law included.

She liked my photos, smiled at me over breakfast the next day...

And then had the audacity to scold me in front of fifty people like I was the problem.

As if their screens could handle my skin, but their living room couldn't.

I wasn't the problem. Their timing was.

But of course, I was the one pulled aside. Smiled at. Scolded. Shamed.

For dressing like the woman I knew I was.

I still remember how I burned with humiliation, how I changed into a black salwar out of spite--neck to toe covered, like I was going to a funeral. Pankaj hated that too.

I was either too much or too little.

Never just right.

And now here was Harsh, smiling like it was just a line. Just a tease.

But it triggered all of it.

The judgments. The scolding. The old wounds that never really healed.

I smiled back at him--slowly, sweetly.

But I felt something shift.

Because this time, I wouldn't be changing my dress.

Before he could dig himself a hole, his friend quickly jumped in. "He means the color! White's hard to travel in. Two days of dust and food... that kind of thing."

I exhaled, lips parting into a wry smile.

"Fair point."

My voice softened--but not shy. More like... playful guilt.

"Sorry if I snapped. You're not the first guys to judge what I wear... but maybe the first ones who didn't mean it like that."

I let my fingers trail lazily over the hem of my dress, smoothing it across my thighs with just enough extra pressure.

"White is dangerous. All it takes is one spilled chai and I'll be doing a see-through show from Guwahati to Mumbai."

I glanced down, brushing a faint smudge near my hip.

"I mean, look--this thing already picked up dirt just walking across the station.

I met their eyes, one by one.

"But it's all I had left. I packed for weddings and sightseeing. Spent most of my trip showing off in dresses tighter than this one."

I smirked. "And now? Most of my clothes are either worn out... or not exactly train-friendly."

"Not train-friendly?" the harsh asked, his grin widening. "Like... how not-friendly?"

I gave him a playful smirk. "I have one other option. A red dress. But it's way too revealing. Like--slutty-level revealing. Definitely not something you wear on public transport. Or in public, honestly."

He blinked, eyes lighting up. "More revealing than this dress you're already wearing?" he asked, trying to glance at my chest without being too obvious.

"Way more," I said, biting the edge of my straw. "I've actually never worn it outside. My husband, Pankaj--who's pretty liberal, mind you--even he said it's too much. He called it slutty as hell. Said if I ever stepped out in it, men would trip over themselves on the street. That it wouldn't just get me stares--it'd get me undressed with eyes before I even made it to the end of the lane."

They both laughed, clearly picturing it in their heads--and probably imagining me in it. I didn't stop them. Let them imagine. Let them stew in it. Their stolen glances didn't bother me--in fact, they fed the fire. Because here I was, sitting in public, dripping wet in my white dress, talking about a red one I'd never dared to wear. And right now? I was starting to wonder why the hell I hadn't.

The Harsh leaned in a bit, curiosity mixing with boldness. "So what stops you, didi? I mean... you clearly have the curves for it. And if you had the guts to buy a dress like that, you definitely had it in mind to wear it, right?"

I smiled, sipping slowly before answering. "You're not wrong. I did buy it to wear. I picked it especially for New Year's this year. We were going to a rooftop party, and my husband Pankaj, was picking me up directly after his office. I got all dressed, makeup done, hair curled, and that red dress... it hugged every inch of me. The straps were so thin, my shoulders were practically bare. Deep neckline, high slit--no bra, of course. That dress wasn't made for modesty. That dress wasn't made for modesty. It was made for attention--the kind I crave.

The kind that makes men forget their wives and women whisper behind

But this white dress? It's giving me more attention than I expected.

Less skin, sure. But the stares haven't stopped since I walked into this station.

And it turns out... maybe I don't need to be half-naked to feel like a slut.

I let the silence linger, just long enough for both of them to picture that red dress--what I looked like in it, how I moved in it, how easy it would be to strip off.

And I knew exactly what I was doing.

I wasn't just telling a story. I was baiting them.

Feeding them the fantasy I wasn't planning to wear--because let's be honest, I probably wouldn't wear that dress on the train anyway.

But I could still put it to use.

If I played this right, that red dress might never touch my skin today--but their cocks?

They could still fill my mouth, stretch my pussy, and bury themselves deep in my ass.

Because let's be honest--Divya wasn't just hungry.

She was a three-hole cum slut with a time shortage now to complete her mission

Let them hear how slutty I could be.

Let them see where this was going.

Because I wasn't waiting much longer.

I wanted them hard. I wanted them ready. And I wanted them to be the first checkmarks on this journey.

With that thought burning in my mind, I started drifting the conversation faster--because I wasn't here to flirt.

I was here to fuck.

They were both hanging on my every word. I could see it in their posture, in the way they forgot to blink.

"But the moment I stepped out of my room," I continued, "the whole house froze. My in-laws were having a party in the hall. And the look on their faces..." I laughed lightly, but there was truth behind it. "Let's just say, my mother-in-law gave me that sweet but sharp scolding--'Beta, yeh dress thoda zyada nahi hai?' And at same time Pankaj showed up from outside. One look at me, and he just said, 'Change. We're already late.' No arguments. No explanation. Just change he shouted loudly after his mother comments

"And you did?" the hoodie boy asked softly.

I nodded. "Yeah. I didn't want drama. I bought that dress just for that night--and ended up in a black salwar I didn't even like. Out of pure frustration. Fully covered, no skin. It was the only thing I had that could hide everything. Pankaj didn't like that either. He looked at me and said, 'Now you're dressed like you're attending a funeral.'"

I gave them a half-smile, amused but still a little annoyed by the memory. "But I was in full rebel mode by then. I told him, 'Either this or the red one. There's nothing in between.'"

They both laughed again, clearly imagining both options.

"The irony?" I added, tilting my head. "Pankaj wanted me to wear something sexy. He just didn't want me to go that far. But I don't really do 'mild' when it comes to clothes. I'm either dressed to turn heads... or dressed to disappear. No middle ground."

They didn't even try to argue. Their eyes were doing plenty of agreeing on their own. I leaned back slightly, my sundress stretching across my thighs, my cleavage still casually--and deliberately--on display.

That red dress may have never made it out of the house, but right now? but this conversation? It was giving me all the validation I needed I had their attention, their imagination, and their eyes exactly where I wanted them. It had me more turned on than I'd care to admit.

"Wow, didi," the taller one said with a grin, eyes still full of the image I'd painted. "What a rebel you are."

I smirked. "I try."

"But seriously," he leaned in, lowering his voice just enough to make it feel more intimate. "You're on a two-day train journey... alone. If there's ever a time to rebel, this is it. You bought that red dress to make a statement, right? Then wear it. That's how you rebel."

I laughed, shaking my head. "On a train? With families, kids, aunties? Please. I'd be asking for stares, judgment, probably scandal."

He shrugged, eyes playful. "So? You're already getting stares. You've been getting them since you walked into the waiting hall. And let's be honest... you like it."

I tilted my head. "And what would my husband & my in-laws say if they find out I wore that dress on a public train?"

"Well," he said, leaning back, "he won't. Unless you tell them. Right now, none of them know what you're wearing. You're already out of town. It's your body, your trip. And what they don't know can't make them mad."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me to lie to my husband?"

"No," he grinned, "I'm telling you not to volunteer information. There's a difference."

I laughed again, despite myself. "It's not that simple. That dress is... it's next level. I don't even know if I can carry it off in a space like this. It's a train's not a club, it's a moving village. It's one thing to wear that dress to a rooftop party--somewhere classy, with music, lights, people who expect boldness. There, I'd be the boldest girl in the room. But this?" I gestured around us. "This is a train. It's families, aunties, uncle types, the railway staff. It's sweaty, cramped, chaotic. That dress doesn't belong here."

He shrugged, eyes trailing down my body with no apology. "I think it belongs anywhere you decide to wear it."

I smirked. "You're smooth, but not convincing."

He leaned forward just a little. "So you never once thought of wearing it on this trip? You didn't just pack it by accident. You brought it because--somewhere in your head--you wanted to wear it. Maybe even on this trip."

I paused, then admitted it. "I thought of it every day. Even today. I looked at it this morning for a full five minutes. But come on--tight straps, deep neck, slit up my thigh? No bra? You really think I can step into a 3AC coach like that? I'd be eaten alive in the first hour."

"It was just a thought of wearing it," I added. "But a stupid one."

He raised an eyebrow. "Why stupid?"

I gave him a sharp look. "It's not funny. I want to feel sexy, not become the entertainment for two straight days."

He gave a slow nod. "So... you let the fear of being looked at stop you? Even though you love being looked at?"

That made me sit up straighter. "There's a difference between being looked at and being judged. I like being desired, sure. I don't want to be labelled a slut. I'm not a slut. I act wild, I flirt, I tease--but that's me. That doesn't make me a slut. And I don't want every man in the train thinking I'm easy just because of one dress."

He didn't break eye contact. His tone dropped, a little deeper now. "You think people on this train can tell who you are from what you wear?"

He smiled. "If you were actually a slut, Divya, you'd already be wearing that dress. Sitting here, in it. Smirking. Legs crossed like you own the whole world. But you're not. You're sitting in white, still figuring it out. Still trying to control the fire."

I laughed, dry. "You're missing the point. I already get enough attention in this dress. That red one is a statement. Thin straps. Bare shoulders. Slit up the thigh. Deep neckline. No bra. I've never even worn it outside. Pankaj hated it."

He nodded. "Pankaj didn't buy that dress--you did. He hated it. You didn't. That's why you chose it for the rooftop party, right? Not to please him... but because it made you feel unstoppable."

I crossed my arms. "I didn't buy it to become the center of a scandal. I wanted to feel powerful. Confident. Sexy. Not cheap. And there's a fine line between the two in this country."

He nodded again, but didn't back down. "Exactly. So don't let them define that line. Don't shrink for them. You packed that dress because you weren't done with it. And if you don't wear it now... when? Next year? Another excuse, another moment lost?"

I turned to him again. "You make it sound so simple. Like I just slip it on and nothing happens."

"Something will happen," he said. "You'll feel alive. Free. Like yourself. And they'll stare, sure. But they stare anyway. And right now? You're giving them the show for half the thrill."

I gave a breathy laugh, biting my lip. "You're dangerous."

He smiled. "No. Just honest. You're already on the edge. I'm just saying... maybe that dress isn't the risk. Maybe not wearing it is."

He didn't stop. "You didn't bring that dress just to fold it away. You brought it with a reason, a fantasy, a moment in mind. And now that you're in the middle of that moment, you're still looking for reasons to kill it."

"This is a train. Two days of sitting, walking through narrow aisles, uncles peeking from upper berths," I muttered.

"Sounds like a runway with bad lighting," he joked.

I gave him a look. "It's not funny. I'm not trying to get molested for the sake of fashion."

He sobered a little. "Fair. But let's be honest--you're getting stared at anyway. This white dress isn't exactly hiding you."

"I didn't wear this for attention," I said firmly. "I wore it because it was the only decent thing I had left. I didn't expect this much staring."

He nodded. "So wear the red one because you choose it. Not out of spite, not out of fear, but because you want to. That's real rebellion. Not wearing black salwar like punishment. Not folding the red dress away like surrender. You want to be bold? Be bold on your terms. You want to challenge your husband? Then wear it. Because he didn't want you to. Because they couldn't handle it. But most of all, because you wanted to. Not out of rage. Out of pleasure."

He paused, then said quietly: "Or maybe... you're not afraid of the dress. You're afraid you'll love how it feels once it's on."

I turned to him again, slower this time. "Wow. That's a hell of an argument. You talk like you know what's going on in my head."

He smiled softly. "All I'm saying is... what's the difference between you and them if you're also stopping yourself?"

That line hit harder than I expected. I sat with it. Quiet for a moment. Every reason I had built up--not safe, too much attention, too bold--suddenly felt... flimsy. I did buy that dress with fire in my heart. And here I was again, holding myself back. Not for me. For them. Always for them.

I sighed, leaning back. "You're trouble, you know that?"

He grinned. "Maybe. But I just say what you already know deep down."

And as I stared at my suitcase across from me, knowing that red dress was folded inside... I felt something shift. The question wasn't should I wear it. It was--how can I not?

I exhaled slowly, the weight in my chest finally shifting into something else--something lighter... hotter. I looked at him, this boy with sharp eyes and words that knew exactly where to land.

"You know what?" I said, my voice a touch breathier than I meant. "You're a hell of a genius. You actually convinced me."

His grin was instant, wide and wicked.

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling the thrill rush through my veins. "I'm going to wear the red dress. And I won't just wear it--I'll own it. I'll enjoy the stares, the attention, every inch of it. Not because I'm proving something to anyone. But because I want to. For me."

I paused, and added with a spark behind my smile, "And maybe... a little revenge. That New Year's night? When Pankaj and his mother scolded me in front of guests? That was unnecessary. Yes, they're good people, and I love them. They've let me wear bikinis at resorts, pool parties, beaches--never once said a word. But that dress?" I shook my head. "It was bold, sure, but it didn't deserve that scene. That dress was a moment I earned. And I won't waste this one."

He watched me closely now, no teasing--just a quiet kind of pride behind his expression..

I nodded at both of them, then looked at Harsh once more, eyes meeting with a spark. "Well, Harsh... let's see what that red dress does to a train full of strangers, shall we?"

"You know what?" I said, my voice a touch breathier than I meant. "You're a hell of a genius. You actually convinced me."

His grin was instant--wide and wicked.

"Yeah," I nodded, feeling the thrill rush through my veins. "I'm going to wear the red dress. And I won't just wear it--I'll own it. I'll enjoy the stares, the attention, every inch of it. Not because I'm proving something to anyone. But because I want to. For me."

I let that hang for a second, then added with a darker smile, "And maybe... a little revenge. That New Year's night? When Pankaj and his mother scolded me in front of guests? That was unnecessary." I softened my tone. "They're good people. I love and respect them. They've let me wear bikinis to beaches and resorts without ever saying a word. But somehow, that red dress--thin straps, bare shoulders--was too much? No. That wasn't about modesty. That was about control."

He watched me closely now--less playful, more captivated.

"Thank you," I said sincerely. "For saying exactly what I didn't know I needed to hear."

I nodded at both of them, then looked at Harsh once more, locking eyes with that same slow-burning spark. But my gaze didn't stay there. It dipped--downward. And what I saw made my lips curl and panties wetter

They were both trying to stay still, stay casual, but there was no hiding it now. Their cocks were pressing clearly through their pants--thick, tense, twitching with every breath. And oh, did they know I saw it.

That little bulge? That was my win.

My words. My tease. My effect.

And seeing their cocks strain like that made my pussy clench with pure, filthy pride.

Half the mission was already accomplished.

But half wasn't enough.

I wanted those cocks out. In my mouth. In me.

And time was running out.

So I leaned in--heart racing, pussy soaked, voice velvet-slick and heavy with heat.

There was no time left for subtlety. I was done hinting. I needed their cocks. Now.

Looks like the red dress hasn't even come off yet from my suitcase--and it's already making your cocks beg for attention.

They froze. Gaurav shifted uncomfortably, trying to play it cool. Harsh didn't even move--he just stared at me like I had him pinned to the seat.

"You know," I went on, my voice slow, thick, dangerous, "if just talking about me in that dress got both your cocks up and begging..."

I let my eyes drop again, smiling at the tension bulging through their pants.

"... imagine the kind of hard, leaking mess I'll be causing once I strut into coach B5 wearing it for real."I leaned in, lips curling into a smirk.

"And honestly?" I breathed, voice thick with heat, "That's exactly what I want. Not polite stares. Not shy little glances.

I want real reactions--raw, twitching, impossible-to-hide kind of proof."

My eyes dropped again, hungry.

"I want to know what that red dress does to every cock in that coach. Not just in their eyes... but bulging, straining behind every zipper I pass.

They stared at me--equal parts stunned, aroused, and completely at my mercy.

I gave a soft, satisfied laugh.

"Sorry if that was too direct," I said with mock sweetness. "Maybe it was. But after the kind of attention and intensity I've been soaking in for the past hour and a half... I guess I just stopped filtering

Harsh finally blinked, shifting slightly as if trying to collect himself, though the growing outline in his pants still betrayed him.

"Okay," he said with a dry laugh, lifting both hands briefly. "I get it. Given the situation, and the effect you're clearly having... I can't blame you for the words you chose."

I smirked, leaning back in my chair. "See, Harsh... I get horny easily." I let that land without shame, watching both their faces shift--Gaurav looked like he was ready to melt into the floor, while Harsh's lips parted slightly, unsure if he should smile or stay frozen.

"And when I get like this..." I continued, twirling my straw between my fingers, "... sometimes I say or do things even I wouldn't expect from myself. Not because I'm trying to tempt anyone. It's just... hard to keep normal. After all, I'm human, right?" I glanced between them. "And when I walk into that train, dressed like that, surrounded for two days by strangers... how the hell am I supposed to act 'normal' when I'm wet just from a conversation?"

I let out a little breath, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "But that's the thing. If I slip--even once--if I give in to any impulse... the label will come flying in. 'Slut.' Just like that. And I know you might be thinking it already. I mean, what kind of married woman says all this to two boys she just met?"

Harsh didn't flinch. He looked at me with surprising softness, even respect.

"Divya," he said, voice low and calm, "you're way too concerned about being judged a slut. And honestly? Being horny, and acting on it, doesn't make you one."

He leaned in a little, his eyes steady. "If you're ever in that train and something does happen--if the impulse is strong, if you do act on it--then all you have to do is say it first. Let the other person know: you're not a slut. You're just a woman doing exactly what she wants. And only you get to decide what that means. Not them. Not me. No matter how wild it gets."

He paused, eyes still on mine. "The only thing that matters is you own it. The rest? Doesn't deserve a say

I sat back for a second, chewing on my straw and pretending I wasn't burning from the inside out.

It was 4:10.

40 goddamn minutes left before boarding.

40 minutes before I'd have to drag my soaked pussy onto that train and sit with this tension for the next forty-nine hours.

And these boys--these sweet, twitching, obviously-hard boys--were still sitting there like they needed permission.

What else did they want? I'd handed them every signal. Every filthy breadcrumb.

I'd bared my thoughts, licked my lips, stretched just enough, dropped every hint short of unzipping their pants for them.

And still--nothing.

Maybe they were nervous. Maybe they were being respectful.

But I wasn't feeling polite anymore.

I was feeling used. Wet. Denied.

And if I didn't do something now, every filthy thought I'd had about their cocks was going to stay just that--thoughts.

I exhaled, deeply frustrated.

Fine. I'll say it. I'll do what they won't.

Because I wanted to taste them. I needed to taste them.

And if I had to be the one to push things forward?

Then I was going to push hard.

I gave him a half-smirk, then leaned in just a little, voice low and unfiltered.

I gave Harsh a half-smirk, then leaned in--closer this time--my voice soft, but filthy beneath the surface.

"And when I get like this... this horny," I whispered, "sometimes I don't even know what I'm going to say next."

I let out the lightest laugh, brushing my tongue along the edge of my teeth like I was holding back something dangerous.

"Like right now... part of me just wants to get on my knees and suck both your cocks. Right here. No buildup. No excuses. Just to say thank you."

A pause. One second. Two.

"Thank you for getting inside my head, for tearing through all that fake restraint... and giving me exactly what I didn't even know I needed."

My voice dropped to a whisper that felt like it could crawl under their skin.

"Because honestly? I don't need more conversation right now..."

I leaned in, eyes locked on theirs.

"My mouth doesn't need to talk anymore. My mouth needs your cocks."

And I smiled--sweet as sin. Like I hadn't just offered to suck them

Harsh stared. "Wait... are you actually serious of sucking our cocks?"

"Damn right I am," I replied, unapologetically. "How else am I supposed to thank you for snapping me out of it? For bringing me back to myself? I'm wet, I'm buzzing, and I feel alive. So yes--I want to. And that doesn't make me a slut. That makes me grateful. Wild, maybe. But not a slut."

Harsh leaned back for a second, then smiled--slow, measured, and amused.

"Okay. Then take this as your rule going forward," he said.

"You can do anything--anything--that your body wants. But before you do, you just say it out loud: 'I'm not a slut. I'm just being generous.' Say it first. Own it. That way, it's clear to you, clear to him, clear to anyone watching or whispering later."

He held my gaze.

Because you're not a slut, Divya... you're just finally letting yourself say yes to what you want.

"Thank you, really," I said, licking my lower lip. "But... thank-you feels incomplete right now. And we've only got about 40 minutes left before the train. So I guess I better go change... after I suck both of you off."

That hit like a freight train.

Gaurav's mouth dropped open. Harsh just stared--wide-eyed--for a second, then blinked back to life, that wicked grin spreading again.

"Then get on your knees, Divya," he said softly, voice thick with heat, "and start sucking. Right here in the waiting room."

I raised an eyebrow, heartbeat hammering.

"You want me to suck you here? In front of everyone?"

My voice dipped into something filthier.

"You're not afraid I'll look like a cheap, desperate whore? Because that's exactly what I'll be... drooling over your cocks in a room full of strangers."

He leaned forward, eyes dark.

"See?" Harsh said with a crooked smile. "That's still your problem, Divya. You say you want it--but only if it's hidden. Somewhere safe. You're still scared of being judged, even after everything we just said."

"If you really didn't care, you'd be on your knees right now, in the middle of this room, taking both our cocks in that pretty mouth."

"So why hold back now? Stop worrying. Stop fearing. Be the Divya you really want to be."

Before I could answer, Gaurav jumped in, voice quick and low.

"There's a men's staff washroom behind the waiting hall. It's under construction. No one ever goes back there."

Like he thought I'd flinch. Get shy. Say no.

If only he knew how soaked I was just imagining it--dropping to my knees in the middle of this filthy waiting room, gagging on both their cocks while the world watched.

Embarrassed? Fuck no. I was dripping for it. My pussy was clenching at the very thought of it.

But I could see it in Gaurav's eyes--that flicker of panic.

He was turned on, but scared. Nervous.

And I wasn't about to let that stop me from getting what I needed.

"Aw, Gaurav," I said with a little pout, my voice sweet and thick,

"You've been such a good boy... listening, watching. Getting hard with every filthy word I've said."

"You think one cock in my mouth will be enough right now?"

I licked my lips.

"It wouldn't be fair to leave you out, baby. Not when I want both your cocks down my throat."

Then I softened, just a little--enough to make him feel safe, even if I was anything but.

I smiled slowly.

"Lead the way."

Harsh glanced around, then walked over to the nearest older man sitting a few feet away--someone who'd been reading the paper earlier and not paying us much attention.

"Bhaiya," he said with casual confidence, "we're stepping out to get water. Can you keep an eye on our luggage for just a few minutes?"

The man nodded with the universal Indian uncle grunt of approval.

And just like that, we slipped out the side exit--me between them, heat pulsing through my thighs, my lips already parted in anticipation. I wasn't scared. Not anymore.

I was ready to give, to take, to thank... my way.

We slipped around the back of the waiting hall, down the cracked path that led to the men's staff washroom--half-demolished, blocked off with a loose wooden plank and a faded "UNDER CONSTRUCTION" sign. Harsh pulled it aside, and the three of us ducked inside like we were stepping out of the world and into something... electric.

The place was quiet, dust-filled, the broken tiles catching the slant of afternoon light through a high vent. I barely looked around.

"We've got, what, thirty-five minutes?" I said, twisting my hair into a high knot. My fingers moved quickly, like muscle memory--like I'd done this before.

My heart was racing, but my voice stayed low and steady. "Let's not waste time. I want to thank you. Both of you."

Then I paused, just for a second--because they needed to hear this next part.

"I know I wanted to be fucked..." I looked at them both, smirking. "I still do. But I don't rush things I live for."

"I worship cock. Properly. From my mouth first. And I don't want to skip a second of that."

I stepped closer, voice dropping into something filthier.

"So today? You get my mouth. Just my mouth. Let me do it right. Let me make you forget you've ever been sucked before."

I turned, sinking slowly down to my knees. Gaurav let out a breath like he'd forgotten he was holding it. Harsh's eyes were fixed on me like I was something he didn't expect to actually touch.

"Before I do anything," I said, looking up at them with wide, mock-sincere eyes, "just to be clear..."

"This isn't because I'm some slut who sucks off random boys she meets at train stations."

I smiled sweetly, knowing damn well how deep their cocks would be in my throat in about ten seconds.

"I'm not that girl. I'm a good person."

I dragged a finger across my lip, slow.

"I'm only doing this because I'm grateful. Because you helped me see myself more clearly."

I knelt down, letting my voice drop to a purr.

"That's all."

And then I opened my mouth--like the filthy, grateful girl I claimed I wasn't.

Harsh looked down at me with a lopsided smile--no longer gentle, but edged with hunger.

The sound of zippers came next. Belts unfastening. Pants sliding down. And then... I looked up--and their cocks were right there. Inches from my face. Real. Hard. Waiting.

My throat went dry. My thighs pressed together.

No more words.

I smiled.

And leaned forward.

I didn't hesitate--I started with Harsh

I didn't hesitate--I took Harsh's cock in my mouth first. Warm, thick, already pulsing with need.

My lips wrapped around him slowly, deliberately, like I'd done this a thousand times--and loved every second of it.

Because I had. And I did.

As I bobbed forward, his voice came down like thunder:

"Divya," he growled, eyes locked on mine. "Enough with the bullshit."

"You've said what you had to say--played the innocent, pretended this was gratitude."

He leaned forward, his cock nudging deeper, voice thick and commanding.

"We both know why you're really down here. Your mouth was made for this. Suck our cocks."

Then softer, darker:

"You're a cocksucker. That's who you are. And cocksuckers say thank you by swallowing every inch."

I paused--just enough to lift my head slowly off his length and meet his eyes.

And I smiled.

"No," I whispered. "You don't get to call me that."

His brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by the tone shift.

"Cocksuckers are desperate slut. Fast. Greedy. I'm not that."

I sat back on my knees, letting the air hang thick around us as I licked slowly up the shaft.

"I'm a cock worshiper."

"I take my time. I don't just suck cock--I honor it."

I kissed the tip. Teased it. Smirked.

then I moved to Gaurav took his cock in my mouth

I pulled off his cock with a wet pop, lips glistening, eyes sharp.

You don't get it," I whispered, nuzzling his shaft with a soft kiss.

"A cocksucker just wants to get fucked. Fast. Sloppy. Forgotten."

I dipped low, kissed his balls, then turned to Harsh and licked a stripe up his length--one long, teasing drag of my tongue.

"A cock worshiper like me?" I smiled, almost sweetly, stroking both cocks with both hands, alternating licks between them.

"She needs to please. To taste. To earn every drop like it's holy."

Then I took Harsh halfway into my mouth, moaned softly, let him slide free again, and turned back to Gaurav--his tip now glistening with precum.

I kissed it once. Then again.

"A cocksucker does it because she's used to being called a slut..."

I licked the drop from his tip and swallowed it without breaking eye contact.

"Me?" I said softly, wrapping my lips just around the head and flicking with my tongue.

**"I do it because I was born to."

I leaned in, running my tongue slowly along his shaft.

"... I do it it because I knows I am more than that. I am devoted Cum-hungry. But never a cheap slut."

I was already between their cocks, my tongue wet and eager, taking up one shaft, then the other--slow and indulgent. I kissed their tips like they were sacred.

Because to me? They were.

"You think I'm a cocksucker?" I murmured, lips brushing Harsh's tip, my breath hot.

I let my hand slide to Gaurav's balls, cradling them with filthy care.

"Cocksuckers drink cum because men want them to."

"I drink it because I crave it. Because I dream about it coating my tongue."

I kissed lower, down Gaurav's shaft, then switched to Harsh, flicking my tongue under the ridge, never letting my eyes leave theirs.

"A slut swallows because she's told to."

"I swallow because I need it inside me."

"I worship cock, not because I'm weak..."

I ran my tongue up the base of Harsh's shaft, slow as sin.

"... but because I love the power it gives me to kneel and still be the one in control."

They were panting now, frozen, cocks twitching, completely under me.

And I wasn't done.

"You fuck a slut to use her."

I kissed Gaurav's balls again, sweet and slow.

"You fuck a cock worshiper because she asks for it with her eyes, her lips, her tongue."

"Because she treats your cock like it's something divine--and makes you believe it too."

I looked up again, dead center between them.

"So don't ever call me a cocksucker again."

I smiled as I licked both tips at once, eyes glowing.

"I'm a worshiper. A cum-thirsty, cock-hungry devotee."

"I don't fake innocence. I just dress it up and dare the world to stare."

Their cocks were hard and dripping now--slick with precum, twitching with every breath. I licked it off both heads, slowly, reverently.

First from Harsh--swiping the bead from his tip with my tongue, humming at the taste.

Then Gaurav--sliding my lips just around the crown, sucking gently until I felt his thighs tense.

Two flavors. Two bodies. One mouth. My mouth.

I took both shafts in my hands now, stroking slowly.

I licked a slow circle around Harsh's head before taking him in deeper, then let him pop free with a smile.

"Cocksuckers suck because it's expected."

I turned to Gaurav and dragged my tongue along his underside then took him full in in my mouth.

"I suck because I choose to. It's not a duty--it's my obsession.

Both of them groaned, helpless. I wasn't done.

"Cocksuckers do it to make men happy..."

I looked up at them, flicking my tongue between their tips.

"I do it because it makes me happy."

"Cocksuckers kneel because they were told to."

I slid both tips along my cheeks, nuzzling them like I was in love.

"I kneel because it turns me on to worship cock at eye level."

"Cocksuckers just open their mouths."

I dipped back to Harsh, kissing the shaft, then sucked on him slow, deep, and full.

"I open my soul when I open my lips. Every inch I take is because I crave it."

"A cocksucker uses her mouth like a tool."

I gave Harsh one long, slow suck, eyes never leaving his.

"I use mine like it's a fucking star."

"Cocksuckers forget your name after they swallow."

I licked a bead of precum from Gaurav's tip and kissed it like thanks.

"I remember every twitch, every taste, every moan you give me."

"And the biggest difference?"

I looked up at them both, licking my lips clean.

"A cocksucker finishes you fast."

I kissed both shafts one more time. Took them deepest one more time

"I take my time. Because I'm not here to drain you..."

"... I'm here to break you. To make sure no other mouth ever feels enough again."

"I'm not your slut."

"I'm your addiction."

"I'm the obsession you'll jerk off to for the rest of your life.

She didn't need words anymore. Not after that last line. The room fell quiet--not from awkwardness, but submission.

Neither of them dared speak. Only their breathing, ragged and sharp, and the soft, wet sounds of her mouth filled the air.

I alternated between them with practiced rhythm, confident, steady. My hands moved on instinct, my lips choosing whose pleasure to draw in next. This wasn't chaos--it was control. Two cocks, one mouth. I'd done far more with even less time. Back in college, this wasn't just a habit--it was my signature, my filthy little legacy. The whispered stories that spread through hostel corridors, the bathroom graffiti, the stolen glances from boys who had either tasted me or desperately wanted to. My name didn't just circulate--it lingered. I was the one they warned each other about, and the one they all secretly hoped to get alone. The one who could shut a guy up mid-sentence with just a look... and finish him with just my mouth.

And all those stories Pankaj had heard before we got married--the ones he thought were just exaggerations, impossible for one girl to live up to? Every single one was true. If he ever wondered, "who could really be that bold?"--well, the answer was always me.

I'm not nobody. I'm Divya. I was, am, and will always be a cock worshiper. And yes--deep down, I know I'm a slut. But god, it turns me on even more to play innocent. To say I'm not, even after doing the dirtiest things a girl can do. There's just something delicious about denying it with a smile... while wiping my lips clean.

And now, here I was--kneeling between two boys I'd met barely two hours ago. No shame. No hesitation. No excuses. This wasn't some forbidden thrill I'd been secretly longing for--it was just another day of being who I already am. A married slut who fucks behind her husband's back because she wants to. Because she can. I don't miss anything. I never stopped. This isn't some old part of me coming back--this is who I've always been. I don't wear it on my sleeve, but it's there, under every smile, behind every dress I pretend is 'just for fashion.' I don't need to justify it. I just need to enjoy it. And I do. Every filthy second of it. Like it belonged to me. Because it did.

I'm a slut. I love being a slut. I crave the cocks, the secrets, the rush of getting away with it. And to the world? I'll still play the sweet one. Not out of shame--out of sheer thrill. I don't dress decent--I never have. I dress to be watched, to be undressed by every pair of eyes I pass. Tight, loud, dripping with skin and suggestion. And I speak soft, polite, like butter wouldn't melt in my mouth... even when it's just been fucked full of cock. That's the power I live for. The game. The double life. The girl who plays innocent while her thighs are still sticky from what she just did in a locked room. It's not guilt--it's performance. And I'm the star every time I walk out like nothing happened. Two faces, one truth--and the real one is always soaking wet

This wasn't about them anymore. It was about me.

Divya moved with slow, merciless precision--sinking low, going deep, then easing back only to do it again. Her hands firm, her rhythm unshaken. Not a giggle, not a tease--just the worship she promised. For two straight minutes, she worked in silence, watching their bodies tremble, feeling their restraint start to crack beneath her.

And just when she felt it--that subtle flex in the thighs, that pulse at the base of the shaft, the breath they didn't mean to hold--she stopped.

Lifted her head. Let them hang.

She didn't touch. Didn't speak. Just sat back between them, lips wet, eyes knowing.

And the silence she left in her wake was louder than any moan.

They didn't ask why. They didn't beg.

They just waited--for whatever Divya decided came next

She rose just enough to let both of their cocks slip from her hands, wet and aching. They twitched helplessly in the air--hard, throbbing, unsatisfied.

Her lips glistened. Her eyes burned.

"Let me make one thing clear," she said softly, the calm in her voice more terrifying than a scream.

"I'm not your slut. I'm not your whore. And I'm sure as hell not your cocksucker."

She leaned forward, slowly, until her breath tickled both their shafts.

"I'm Divya."

"The cock worshiper."

"The cum-starved, Cum hungry, cum addict

"Who sucks not to please you, but to own you."

"And I'll suck you dry only if you say my name right--because no one moans unless I allow it."

She sat back again, crossed her arms, and gave the faintest, wickedest smile.

"So say it properly. Or I leave this room with both your loads still inside you."

The silence was instant--not fear, but obedience.

And then, at once they both said, desperate and reverent:

"You're our cock worshiper, Divya."

She nodded.

"Good boys."

And then, like a promise, she dropped again--ready for her final reward.

This time, she didn't tease. Just silence and need. She took Gaurav first full, her mouth closing over him like she was claiming what she'd earned. He gasped--loud, broken--and barely lasted a few thrusts before he lost control.

Divya didn't flinch. She took everything he gave her, swallowing like it was a privilege. A few drops escaped, sliding down her chin as she stayed there, still holding him, making sure he felt every second of it.

Harsh watched, panting, fists clenched, his cock twitching with every breath.

He didn't even get a word out. No warning. No control.

Just the sight of her--on her knees, chin wet, lips dripping with cum from Gaurav, glowing like she owned the world--that was all it took.

He exploded.

Right there. All over her face.

Divya didn't move. She didn't flinch. She let him mark her. Let it hit her skin like a crown.

Because she wanted it. She deserved it. And now, she wore it like a reward

Divya didn't wipe her face.

She wore it.

Her face was glazed with Harsh's cum--some clinging to her cheek, some streaked across her cleavage.

Her belly warm and full with Gaurav's load, a slick drip still hanging from her chin.

She didn't wipe it.

She wore it.

Like jewels only a cock worshiper deserved.

But she wasn't done.

She leaned back in, slowly, hungrily--licking every drop off their cocks, from tip to base, then lower. Their balls. Their thighs.

She cleaned them with her mouth, one worshipful kiss at a time.

Because Divya never left a cock messy after she prayed to it.

It wasn't about them.

It was about her.

And her worship? Was always complete.

I looked between them, flushed, soaked in my panties, but completely in control. This wasn't desperation. It was reward. It was me--unfiltered, fearless, and honest with myself.

"So?" I said, licking the edge of my lip and glancing up at both of them. "That a good thank-you?" I tilted my head and winked. "You'd agree I showed enough gratitude, right? And just to be clear--nobody here thinks I'm some whore or slut or a cock sucker right?"

They both looked wrecked. Gaurav was the first to speak, still breathless.

"Best... ever blowjob," he managed, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

I gave a little shrug. "Yeah... I get that a lot."

Deep down, I know exactly what I am. I'm a cocksucker, cheating slut who gets off on being filthy in private and flawless in public. And the part that turns me on the most? It's not just the act--it's the lie. The sweet little game I play. Pretending I'm not a slut, even when cum's still on my lips. That contrast? That's what makes me drip.

"Can I ask you one last thing before you change into that red dress?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Cutting it close, aren't you?" I smirked, wiping a streak from my chin. "Fine. We've got maybe fifteen minutes. Speak fast."

He nodded. Not grinning anymore. Just watching me--like he wasn't looking at my body now, but at something beneath it.

"If something happens on the train..." he began, "if you feel that same pull, that same heat--don't hide it. Don't drag it into a bathroom or sneak it behind curtains. Don't shrink it to fit someone else's comfort."

I tilted my head, smirking. "You want me to just--what? Do it out in the open?"

"I want you to stop apologizing for what you are," he said simply. "You didn't need privacy here. You didn't ask permission. And look at what happened--you took control."

I laughed. A little too loud. "Oh really? Then why didn't you let me do it in the waiting room, Harsh? I was ready to drop right there."

He didn't answer. Just turned and slapped Gaurav's back, grinning slightly.

"Ask him. He panicked. Say sorry, bro."

Gaurav sighed, flustered. "Okay, okay. I wasn't ready. I admit it."

Harsh turned back to me, serious again.

"But that's the thing, Divya. You were. You're always ready. Because you're not just acting out a fantasy anymore. You've crossed into who you really are."

I blinked. A beat passed. "And what exactly am I, Harsh?"

His voice dropped a little. Not dirty. Not cruel. Just true.

"You're a worshiper. And real worshipers don't question where the altar is."

"They bow. And they rise stronger."

That hit somewhere I wasn't expecting. I opened my mouth. Closed it. Nothing came out.

So he kept going.

"This isn't for me, Divya. I won't be on that train. But you will."

"And if you're going to wear that dress--own it. If you're going to offer your body--honor it. You don't need to prove it to anyone. But if something does happen..."

He met my eyes. "Let it happen fully. No shame. No hiding. You're not the girl in the corner anymore. You're the flame in the center of the room."

I didn't speak. Couldn't.

Instead, I took one quiet step forward. Dropped to my knees--not for sex. Not for show. Just... because I understood. Because he was right.

I pressed a soft kiss to his hip. Then looked up with a faint, ironic smile.

"Fine," I whispered to the part of him that had just lectured me like a priest.

"Your worshiper will do as she's told."

I smirked. "Fine. Your little train fantasy... request accepted. If something happens in coach B5, I won't hide. I'll suck & fuck cock or cocks wherever I am, just like you asked." I paused, cocking my head. "But what about the people around me? What will they think? I don't want to be seen as a slut."

Harsh's reply was smooth, confident, like he'd been waiting for that.

"Then tell anyone that's nearby. Out loud. Tell them you're not a slut--you're just acting on what you want. Say it like a rule. Let everyone nearby hear it, because they must. That way, no one--not even them--gets to define you. Only you do."

I let out a low laugh and gave him a wink, dragging my fingers slowly across my cheek, finally smearing away the last bit of cum.

"Fair enough."

Why are you wiping it?" he asked. "That's not just cum--it's your reward. Wear it out there. Let the whole station see what you earned. Walk through that waiting room like it belongs to you. Smile at every man who dares to look. Open your bag in front of them. Pull that red dress out with pride. And then walk away like the goddess you are."

My hand froze mid-air.

"I... I didn't mean to wipe it," I murmured. "I wanted to lick it. What will people think? I mean, walking out there with this on my face?" I let out a nervous breath, half laughing. "They'll all stare at me like I'm some cheap randi. (whore ) Which I'm not. I'm a decent girl... I told you that, right?".

But the truth? I'd already made up my mind.

I was stepping out there with cum on my face--And not just walking--I was going to enjoy it,. Harsh just had a way of saying out loud what I was already craving but wouldn't dare to do, And now I was playing innocent again, tossing out lines to cover up what I was clearly going to do anyway.

Harsh leaned in closer, his voice low but sure.

"Divya, it's time to stop pretending. If you want to taste it, do it--but not until you're in that washroom wearing the dress that matches it. Don't steal the moment. Don't rush it. Let the world see you first. Let the thrill burn. Then lick it. Make it yours."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

"Fine," I said, smirking as I turned. "But if I become a monster after this, it's your fault."

"Deal," he replied.

This was new. My first cum walk. My first time letting the world see my sin. And I loved every second of it.

The moment I stepped out of that washroom, the atmosphere shifted.

Everything slowed.

Heads turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. People looked up, down, then back at my face--trying to process what they were seeing. The shine near my lips. The mess on my face. The look in my eyes that dared them to keep watching.

And they did.

All of them.

And I... felt amazing.

I wasn't hiding. I wasn't pretending.

For once, I wasn't even teasing.

I was exposed. And not just with skin. With truth.

This wasn't shame--it was freedom. And it was intoxicating.

I felt my thighs pulse. My breath caught. And somewhere between the stares and the whispers, I realized something shocking:

I was cumming.

Right there. On my feet. No hands. No touch. Just from being seen.

I had cum earlier while sucking them off, and thought that was the high of the day.

But no--this was my real orgasm.

And not just for today.

For weeks. Months, maybe.

This was better than sex.

Better than being fucked

Being seen as a slut... while smiling like an angel. That was my heaven.

And right then, I knew something else too.

This wouldn't be my last time.

This cum walk--this public, silent, filthy confession--it wouldn't be a one-off.

It was going to become a regular thing.

Not every day. But often enough.

This was a new part of me. A ritual. A kink. A need.

Because I'm Divya. And this is what I do.

I stepped back into the waiting room, and it was like silence hit the floor first.

Then came the stares.

Everyone--everyone--looked up. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Bags being zipped, snacks being eaten, phones being checked--all of it froze.

Their eyes went straight to my face.

They saw it.

The streaks on my lips. The shine on my face. The unapologetic glow in my eyes.

And they knew.

Some just stared, mouths slightly open, trying to pretend they weren't thinking what they were thinking. Others didn't pretend at all. A few whispered to each other.

And then--some said it out loud.

"Slut."

"Randi."

"Whore."

Loud enough for me to hear. Maybe even meant for me to hear.

I walked right past them.

Head high. Shoulders relaxed. No flinch. No pause.

If anything... I slowed down.

I let their judgment roll over me like heat. Let it crawl across my skin and soak into my thighs. Let it remind me who I was and why this moment mattered.

And when I reached my bag, I didn't hesitate.

I knelt--slowly--making sure every man behind me got the full view of my back arching, my ass stretching the fabric of my dress, my face still dirty and proud.

I knew what they were thinking. I wanted them to. I was the cum-faced slut in a sundress, bending over like I was offering more. And maybe I was

I unzipped my suitcase like I was undressing it.

Then I pulled out the red dress in one hand.

And the matching red thong in the other.

More whispers. More gasps. Someone coughed like he'd choked on his own words.

I didn't look up.

I stood, dress and thong in hand, and turned toward the washroom like I was walking into a spotlight.

Eyes burned on my skin, but they didn't shame me. They fed me.

Whatever trace of shame I had left--Harsh ripped it out of me for good.

And now? That part of me is gone. Forever.

I didn't just carry the dress. I carried the moment. Like a queen holding her robe before coronation.

Inside the bathroom, I finally exhaled & licked the cum from my face

I stripped--fast but not rushed--and slipped the red dress over my body.

It clung like a second skin. Tight. Hot. Just barely legal. Or maybe not even that.

I came out of the washroom with the red dress clinging to my body like it was painted on.

It barely held me together.

Thin straps dug into my shoulders, stretched to their limits by the weight of my chest. The neckline? A joke. My cleavage spilled freely, and the fabric only held my underboobs like it was begging for mercy.

One wrong breath, and a nipple would escape. It wasn't a question of if. It was a question of when.

And yet... I didn't feel exposed.

Not after what I'd just done.

After walking through the waiting room with cum on my face--staring men down with a smile--I didn't feel slutty in this dress.

I felt covered.

That dress, by every definition, should have made me feel naked.

But the shame was already behind me. Burned up. Gone forever

Now, I was just playing.

My heels tapped slowly against the platform tiles. I didn't rush. I let the moment stretch. I moved like I knew every stare was for me--and I loved it.

Eyes followed me like they were tied to my hips. Aunties whispered. Uncles blinked too much. College boys sat frozen, snacks halfway to their mouths.

And me?

I knelt down at my luggage and unzipped it again--not because I needed anything, but because I knew bending forward would make the straps struggle to keep up. I could feel the fabric shift with every breath, my nipples brushing against the inside of the cloth, pressing at the edge.

I was this close to a public slip. And the idea made me wetter.

I adjusted the hem of the dress--pointless, really, since it was already riding so far up my thighs, I'd have to pull it down after every step.

But I didn't mind.

I stood up slowly, letting my chest settle, the fabric stretch, the tension hold.

I wasn't even halfway across the waiting room when I saw their faces--Harsh and Gaurav, both frozen. Gaurav's eyes widened like he was seeing me naked. Harsh? He didn't even blink.

Just stared.

Top to bottom.

Chest to thighs.

Back to the cleavage barely being held by two trembling straps.

Then I turned, walked over to Harsh, tilted my head... and gave him the softest, most innocent voice I could summon.

"So... how do I look?"

For a long second, he said nothing.

Then he let out a slow breath. "Okay," he muttered, half to himself. "Now I get it."

I tilted my head. "Get what?

"Why your husband and his family were angry," he said. "Why they lost it when you wore this."

He wasn't mocking. He wasn't shaming me. He was just... honest.

He stepped a little closer, voice dropping. "If I were your husband and saw you in this dress, I'd be jealous of every man in this station. And terrified of how many would follow you."

He paused for a second, then gave a half-smile. "Your husband's a good man, Divya. I didn't get it before, but now? Now I'm on his side, I guess he was right in scolding you for wearing it.

I mean... look at you," Harsh said, his voice a mix of awe and desire. "This dress doesn't just show off your body--it announces it. It doesn't beg for attention, Divya. It commands it. And honestly? Anyone who tries to hide this..." he shook his head slowly, lips curling into a grin, "... is a fool. Pankaj was a fool

He stepped a little closer, voice dropping.

"It was his mistake to keep you hidden. But I get it now--he was scared. Scared of exactly what I'm seeing."

"Let them ache for what they can't have," Harsh said, voice low and hungry. "Just like you want them to."

I smiled.

"They're not just aching anymore, Harsh. They're getting a full view."

I stepped a little closer, letting the dress stretch with every breath.

"The world's already having me. I'm not hiding anything. Not anymore.

There was no guilt in my voice. No pause. No second-guessing.

"Pankaj knows exactly what I am. Maybe not every detail... but he knows the kind of woman he married. And if he thought he could contain me--cover me up and keep me soft and quiet--he was wrong. He always was."

I looked around the waiting room, at the people still stealing glances, still whispering.

"They all see it now. The real me. Not the version wrapped in sarees and smiles. The one who makes cocks twitch from across a room, who walks out with cum on her face and calls it a reward."

I turned back to Harsh and smirked, eyes fierce.

"So let them watch. Let them stare. Let them burn. Because I'm Divya."

"And I was never meant to be hidden."

"And if anyone still has doubts about what I am... they can meet me in coach B5.

???? Author's Note:

Hi everyone, I'm Anjali--and this is my very first fictional story. But don't get too comfortable with that word. If you stick around, you'll soon discover how much of Divya's fire comes straight from my own fantasies... and maybe even my past.

This piece is all about temptation, boldness, and public power. Part One doesn't even leave the station--and still, things get filthy. If you liked the slow burn, the slutty tension, and Divya's unapologetic transformation... just wait till the train starts moving.

I'd love your feedback, your reactions, or even your dirtiest guesses about what happens in Coach B5 next. Because this journey? It's just getting started.

Do give five stars if this story deserves it, leave your comment & suggestion for the future parts

Thanks for reading.

???? -- Anjali