The Last Train

She laughed too loudly at something no one had said, her boots skidding a little on the polished station floor as she came through the ticket gate then she stepped into the last train home, slightly intoxicated, a night out with the workmates, a little too pleased with the warmth still clinging to her cheeks. The station was nearly empty, all hard white lights and damp echoes, the night air seeping in every time the doors slid open. On the platform, she checked the board, blinked at the route map as if it might rearrange itself into something friendlier, and then stepped aboard the nearly empty carriage with the private confidence of someone who believed the worst part of the evening was already behind her.

There were six passengers in the car, including herself.

An older man in a dark wool coat sat by the window across from her, hat in his lap, staring at the reflection of the tunnel lights. A woman with shopping bags dozed with her head against the glass. Two teenagers in hoodies occupied the far end, whispering and grinning at a phone screen. A thin man with a briefcase stood near the door, swaying in a way that suggested he had spent the evening in a more expensive bar than she could afford. And at the back of the carriage sat another man, broad-shouldered and still, his face half-hidden by shadow.

The train lurched forward.

She settled into the seat, her tits now juggled beneath the blouse having left her bra and panties on the bar floor by the window and fished in her little backpack pocket for gum, then for her phone, then for nothing in particular. She watched the city slide by in blurred strips of neon and wet brick. Somewhere behind, the doors sighed shut. A voice crackled over the speakers, cheerful and distant, announcing the next stop.

At the second station, the man with the briefcase got off but not before noticing her hand and how it was slowly circling her left nipple.

He rose abruptly, as if pulled by a string, and the moment the doors opened he stepped out without looking left or right. She noticed only because he left something behind on the seat beside him, a small scrap of folded paper. It fluttered once in the draft. By the time she leaned forward to glance at it, the doors had closed.

The paper was still there.

She hesitated, then reached over and picked it up.

It felt odd in her fingers, almost warm. She unfolded it carefully. At first it looked like a memo, a few neat lines of handwriting squeezed into the narrow space. The kind of practical note anyone might write in a hurry.

Then she saw her name at the top.

Her stomach tightened.

In smaller writing beneath it were five instructions, each one written in the same neat, careful hand.

Do not look into the dark between stations.

If someone leaves something behind, do not touch it.

Count the passengers every time the doors open.

If your name is written on paper, keep reading until the end.

When the final man stands, do not look at him.

She stared at the paper, the train suddenly too loud, too close, too cold.

The woman with the shopping bags shifted in her seat and opened her eyes. She looked at the paper in the girl's hand, then at the short skirt, then at her legs opening and closing to the sway of the train and her face changed in a way that made the girl's throat go dry, not fear exactly, but recognition.

Then, very carefully, as the broad-shouldered man raised himself from his seat she watched as he moved swaying from side to side as he moved closer and then sat beside her, his face half-hidden by shadow he placed his hand on her leg. Without looking at him she parted them, the woman turned her head away.

The train slowed.

At the third stop, the teenagers left.

One of them laughed as he stood, but the sound was cut off when the doors opened. The other followed, still staring at the phone in his hand, thumb frozen over the screen. As they passed her seat, the first one noticed her blouse was unbuttoned revealing her white tits, he also noticed that she clutched the paper tighter, looked down as she remembered the first instruction with a prickling sense of excitement.

At the fourth stop, the woman with the shopping bags departed.

She rose slowly, as if from a dream too deep to remember, gathered her bags with a surprised little smile, as she watched her lifting her hips off the seat and the man sliding his hand under her, she smiled and got off. As the doors closed, one of the bags tipped on its side, and a single orange rolled onto the platform. Then, just before the gap sealed, she bent to pick something up from the seat and glanced back once at the girl with a knowing look as she stood up letting his fingers explore.

At the fifth stop, the older man near the window moved seats.

He stood with a careful, measured motion, as if he had all the time in the world. He tipped his hat slightly toward her. She blinked in surprise and gave a reflexive nod, but when the doors opened he did not step onto the platform. Instead he simply walked into space across from her and sat down, and for one impossible second she could see no outline of him on the glass then after the doors had shut she smiled as she could see he was looking at her. He sat and watched as she slipped her blouse from her shoulders.

Now there were only three left, the man sitting across from her and the man from the back.

The train moved on.

The carriage had changed and the man with the briefcase sat across from her. His eyes scanning her, willing the skirt away, that was the only way she could think to explain it. The lights seemed dimmer now, the air thinner, the windows darker as the three men now stood around in front of her. She unbuttoned the broad-shouldered man's pants and took out his cock, bending forward and placing her hand on him she moved her mouth over it and stuck her tongue out, licking around the head of his hard cock. As she swirled over the tip and opened to start taking him in, he jerked his hips up into her mouth. With a jolt, he has inches in her mouth and she is gagging around him. Holding her in place as he thrusts again, and again, and again, getting deeper in her throat with each thrust her head moved in rhythm to the rocking carriage, and then feeling his balls, she could feel him tense up and explode into her mouth.

Raising her head, the reflection in the glass no longer matched the carriage exactly, as if another train were traveling alongside them in a different, older world. She looked at the older man, her mouth now full of cum. She swallowed and looked down again at the paper.

The first four instructions were still there.

The fifth now had a line beneath it, as if written after the rest.

When the final man stands, do not look at him.

Her pulse thudded in her ears as she watched

He had not moved for the whole journey. Not once. But now, as the train slowed for the next stop, he rose to his feet with terrible patience. His coat hung open from him as he stood, she could see he was naked and spreading her legs he stepped over and knelt before her and reached out and pinched her nipples softly, playfully then it became rougher. She heard herself moan out, thrusting her breasts forward harder, she cried. Standing he took a step forward, still he pinched and twisted her nipples he moved forward allowing him access to her protruding swollen lips.

His face was still half in darkness, but she could feel his attention settle on her with the weight of a hand on her shoulder he pushed forward driving his cock deep into her. She was wet and she could feel him deep inside as he trusted forward time and time again.

The train announced the station name, though the voice crackled and fractured so badly she could not understand it.

As he came inside her she felt the broad-shouldered man shove his finger in her arse, she took a deep breath, and pushed her hips forward. There were no safe words here. Then she felt the man in the dark coat cum. He drew out and bending over she cleaned him off and still the finger pushed in and out.

The girl looked down at the paper again, and without thinking, read the instructions aloud under her breath, racing against whatever was about to happen.

"Do not look into the dark between stations. If someone leaves something behind, do not touch it. Count the passengers every time the doors open. If your name is written on paper, keep reading until the end. When the final man stands, do not let him speak first."

The train stopped.

The doors opened.

And the man with the briefcase smiled and she smiled back.

Or at least, she thought he smiled. His face shifted in the dim light, as if it were deciding what shape to wear. He took another step toward her, and from somewhere beyond the open doors came the sound of many feet moving in unison, pacing in the dark corridor outside.

The paper in her hands grew colder.

The line beneath the fifth instruction spread, ink seeping across the page as if written by something invisible.

Then a new sentence appeared.

You should not have read this far.

The lights went out.