Bride forced fucked in the train episode 3

He could feel the approaching orgasm. His breathing became laboured and he took in this moment of pure ecstasy; gripping her dangling breasts tightly,

He held her hair by both hands, pushed her further down (her face now at the level of the toilet seat rim) so as to get her ass up at a proper angle; and positioned his penis at her anal entrance.

She let out the loudest shriek of the night when she felt his penis tear through her virgin asshole. If the earlier pain had made her delirious, this was intense enough to kill her. He poked at her asshole with increasing thrust, her tightness making it difficult for him to enter her anal canal. After a handful of pokes, her anal opening gave way and the whole length of his shaft entered her anal canal, with such a force that her head painfully banged against the water pipe behind the toilet seat.

It was as if her whole body was on fire, such was the intensity of the pain. She became a part of his thrusts inside her anal canal. With each thrust he gave, her body experienced its own mini earthquake, her head banged against the water pipe, her dangling breasts swivelled as if they would tear right off her body, her knees buckled; her eyes, which she had shut close to black out her mind, opened due to the forceful impact.

Intermittently, during those moments when her eyes opened, she saw her mangalsutra, the sign of her harmonious matrimony, rubbing the inside of the toilet seat; each thrust making it scrape the seat more and more. All she could hear at that moment was the sound of that scraping. The sacred and pure necklace tied around her neck by her husband three days ago, was now being contaminated in the impurest of locations, both literally and figuratively.

He could feel the approaching orgasm. His breathing became laboured and he took in this moment of pure ecstasy; gripping her dangling breasts tightly, he licked her neck from behind, as he felt the bulbous head of his penis bulge inside her anal canal, releasing his semen inside.

He orgasmed in pure delight; ejaculated his semen in huge quantities, giving few secondary thrusts until all his juice had been milked out of his penis. It was one of the longest orgasms he had experienced, all the while moaning out in pleasure. Even after he had withdrawn his penis from this newlywed wife’s anal canal, he was moaning in pleasure!

Hurriedly, he cleaned himself up, buckled his trousers, and made sure her panty was safely lodged in his shirt’s pocket. Then he undid the dupatta from ‘his’ bride’s wrists, who now lay slumped almost unconsciously into the Western toilet seat, and pulled her up. He made her sit up, all the while holding her lest she slumped again, and assessed the damage.

Her forehead was bleeding slightly due to the repeated impacts against the toilet pipe. He washed the cut with water, throwing a few fistfuls on her face in order to get out of her stupor. She was sitting on her own now, dimly aware of her situation, still dazed mentally. He poured few more fistfuls of water on her face.

It was almost as if she felt herself rise from the grave. She was sitting on the toilet seat without any support, gradually regaining her mental functions. She was dimly aware of water being splashed on her face. She felt his hands doing the bra hooks behind her back; pulling her kurta down her front, back into its normal position; helping her legs into her salwar which he had retrieved from the shelf; arranging her dupatta in front of her breasts, hanging it from her shoulders; undoing her mouth gag. He stepped back again, as he had done before raping her, to look at her from top to bottom.

He took out a five hundred rupee note from his pocket and, inserting his hand behind the neckline of her kurta, placed it inside her bra, between both her breasts, in close proximity to her mangalsutra.

As a final act of violation, he licked the mole above her lips. “You were a great fuck, Nikita!” he said, before leaving.

The sound of her first name being spoken by her rapist brought her to reality. She immediately locked the toilet door from inside and looked at her in the mirror. There was a slight cut on her forehead, but it wasn’t bleeding. She washed her face with water, again and again, till it became numb with cold. Scared, dazed and scarred, she couldn’t think of anything else to do there. After making sure that her outer appearance was okay, she stepped back into the vestibule (now brightly lit again) and headed back to her berth.

There was no sign of the man who had altered her internal appearance forever. Everyone was sleeping soundly, exactly as before. As she stepped back on to her berth, she felt a blob of her rapist’s semen ooze out of her asshole and at the same time became aware of something pricking the skin in her cleavage.

Lying down on her berth, panty-less, her ass cheeks wet with her rapist’s semen, she retrieved the five hundred rupee note he had placed in her bra, as a payment for her services to him, making her ‘his’ whore! She looked at her watch; it read 3:20 AM. In just 20 minutes, Nikita had been transformed from a newlywed wife to a cheap whore by a man who had forcefully violated her ‘inner appearance’.

She closed her eyes, in an attempt to draw a curtain on the night’s event; but she couldn’t close her mind. She lay awake for the remaining part of the night, tightly clutching the five hundred rupee note in her right hand, as the voice of her rapist calling her by her first name, reverberated in her ears.

HIM: My name is Alex. I was 47 years old, but as life had been very harsh on me, the weight of the harshness had made me look older. I was a serial rapist for the past 10 years.

Born and raised in a low economic background, educated at a dingy dusty public school, and with no college degree, I wasn’t in a chance for a decent job. Somehow, due to some contact of my relative, I had been appointed on a contractual basis as a coach in-charge in the railways, as soon as I was out of school. After getting a job, my parents had married me off to some random girl from our native village.

So, at the age of 18 years, I had started working, earning and giving my meagre income to my parents. By a stroke of good luck, the railways appointed all contractual workers like me on a permanent basis. Out of nowhere, I had a permanent job, small quarters in a worker’s railway colony and a pretty decent salary. My wife and I moved into the quarters.

My marriage wasn’t a happy one. First of all, I had been married to some ugly village girl whom my relatives had deemed fit for me. Secondly, she couldn’t adapt to life in the city. Thirdly, she couldn’t bear me any child. I had to fuck her as she was my wife, but she failed to excite me.

I had to arouse myself by thinking of the beautiful memsahibs I saw in the trains when I was on duty. All of them traveling in those AC compartments used to be so fair, beautiful and charming. They wore a variety of clothes, wore a variety of fragrances, and showed a large amount of skin. I would get an erection just by seeing them; sniffing them as they walked around in ‘my’ compartment would make me cum with pleasure. And with such a narrow aisle, some brushing and touching was inevitable, I took full advantage of the opportunities presented to me. Usually, I put myself in such positions where some brushing and touching was inevitable.

For twenty years, I lived my life like this. When I was on duty as a coach in-charge, I would survey all the goods on offer in my coach, fix my attention on the most beautiful memsahib, and then masturbate to her thought, lying on my jump bed in the vestibule outside the AC compartment. In the mornings, when the train reached its destination and all passengers had disembarked, I would masturbate again, this time wrapping my memsahib’s bed sheet around my face. When I was at home, I would fuck my wife, all the while imagining her to be that memsahib.

Many a times, I masturbated in close proximity of these memsahibs. When they would come out into the vestibule and wait for their turn to use the toilet, I would, sitting on my jump bed under a blanket, be stroking my penis, ejaculating at the thought of fucking them.

Some of the memsahib’s were very nice. They wore short and tight clothes, bent carelessly to show a lot of cleavage and also occasionally flirted with me. But most of them were mean bitches. They were rude to the ‘low class’ people that worked on the coaches, like me, the coach in-charge or the luggage porters. They would shout and yell, scolding at petty things or mundane issues. This built up a weird frustration inside me, which I relieved by masturbating at the thought of raping those mean bitches.

Then, ten years ago, my life changed. My wife passed away, a severe dengue infection took her life. After that, my sexual desire used to be left unsatisfied. I tried the red light areas, but to no avail. Despite frequent masturbations and visit to brothels, I felt hungry for a real vagina. One night, I did it.

She was one of those mean bitches, shouting away uselessly at me for things beyond my control. First, I masturbated, as I had done all these years, to relieve my frustration. But it was pent up inside my head, and in my balls. She went to the toilet after dinner and I pounced at her, violating her, releasing my pent up frustration inside a married woman’s vagina. That first time, it was untidy. I felt scared to death. What if she complained? But, she had gone back quietly, head hung in shame.

It was then that I came to realize the power I held over such married bitches — they would not let such an incident ruin their family life.

Such an incident — a low class man raping a high class woman, violating her womanhood, filling her with his unworthy semen, was seldom reported; as these high class women were ashamed of the fact that their family, relatives, everyone in the society would come to know of their ordeal. This thinking was even more valid for the newlyweds, who hadn’t even established their places in their new family, where every member analysed their each and every move..

To be continued

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