Express Train

Express Train – New Married Couple

HER: My name is Prerna. I was a newly married 24 year old woman. Married just three days ago, I was on my way to our honeymoon to a nearby hill station. Sitting on the lower berth in an AC 2 tier compartment of an overnight express train, with my husband sitting beside me, I was staring at my reflection in the train’s huge glass window. The reflection in the glass window made me reflect on my life till then.

Born in a typical middle-class Indian family and being an only child, I had been raised like a princess. My mother said that I was the apple of her eyes. Although slightly pampered throughout my childhood, I had grown into a fine mature girl by the time I was eligible for marriage.

Praised for my beauty from the time of my birth, I had developed into an attractive woman after puberty. And adolescence had put the icing on the cake. By the time of my last teen birthday, I had, to put it bluntly, ‘ripened’ perfectly. I was medium built with average Indian height, very fair skin, dark eyes, and jet black shoulder length hair. My breasts were of the perfect size for my build; neither too big nor small, firm and round. My hips had grown in size at a rapid pace size my puberty; now their curves accentuated my near perfect hour-glass figure. But the icing was not the final thing; there was one more thing to top it, the cherry over the icing. My fair elegant face had been blessed with a small mole (black spot) just above my upper lip on the left side.

From an early age itself, I had been aware of my sensuality and the effect it had on men around me. Heads turned as I walked, and they stayed turned for a while. I had even won the ‘Miss Fresher’ title at my Fresher’s Party at college; and had gone on to win ‘Miss Beauty Queen’ title in all subsequent annual day functions.

Having said that, I must remind you, that I had been born and raised in a typical middle-class Indian family. That meant almost nil interaction with the opposite sex, wearing traditional attire or non-exposing tops. Figure hugging clothing, tights jeans or tops, were strictly forbidden.

Throughout my school and college life, I never had a boyfriend. Although no one said anything directly to me, but I knew I was the subject of ridicule amongst my friends, regarding the iron clasp control my parents had over me.

After college, my parents started to search for the perfect groom for me. Matrimonial columns were printed, relatives and friends put to task to find a suitable match for me who fulfilled the criteria of religion, caste, occupation, income, family background, his father’s occupation/income, and many more such things Indian parents look for in a man they deem fit to have sex with their daughter; but not his looks or actual personality. There are so many criteria and sub-criteria that it was almost 2 years before my parents could narrow the choices down to a handful of ‘eligible’ bachelors; another six months in finalizing my ‘perfect match’; then a full year before both could agree to each other’s terms and conditions.

So, finally, after a lot of drama, I got married at the age of 24 years. My ‘perfect match’ was a relatively short man, three years older to me, dark; and with a slight belly already pouting out his lower abdomen. He had a ‘stable’ job and had studied in one of India’s most prestigious institutions. According to my parents, relatives, and friends of relatives, I could not have found a better husband for myself.

My first night as a married woman was uneventful. Of course, both of us lost our virginities to each other; and awkwardly brought each other to orgasms. Well, that’s the case with two virgins of the opposite sex, in their twenties, allowed to sleep together for the first time. We both agreed that there was a long way to go in our sexual lives and that this was just the beginning of an erotic journey.

And so, to make sure our erotic journey was off to a flying start, we were headed for our pre-planned honeymoon to a hill-station nested in the Himalayas. And here I was, staring at myself in the train window!

It was time to sleep, the curtains were pulled and the lights switched off. My husband climbed to the upper berth and I lay down on the lower one, blissfully aware that this vertical separation between us would not be there the next night.

THEM: Prerna woke up, realizing that she needed to go to the washroom, and looked at her watch in the dim light coming from the other side of the curtain. It was 3 AM by her watch. Not wanting to disturb her husband, she quietly got up and groped for her sandals in the dark. He was sleeping soundly.

Stepping into the aisle without any noise, she headed straight to the lavatories to her right, as they were nearer. Everyone was fast asleep; it seemed there was no movement in the whole carriage, except for a lovely married lady heading to answer nature’s call.

Reaching the well-lit vestibule, she opened the door to the Indian style toilet (she preferred them in public places as there was no contact with the seat) and relieved herself. Damn, she thought, as she let out a gush of urine! She should have taken a pee before going to sleep.

Annoyed at the break in her sleep, but now well relieved, she headed back to the vestibule to go back to her berth. But to her surprise, the well-lit vestibule moments ago, was now dark.

Stumbling, and aided by a flicker of light coming from inside the carriage, she took a couple of tentative steps, before she was almost knocked off her feet!

At first it seemed to be a crash, she thought that the train had met with an accident and that she had been jolted backwards by its force. But then, she became aware of a tight grip around her waist and also a rough palm over her mouth. Now inside the Western style lavatory on the other side of the vestibule which was well-lit, she became fully aware of her situation.

It wasn’t a train crash! A man had appeared out of the Western style lavatory as she was heading back. She had been grabbed from behind; a strong palm put over her mouth, and pulled into the Western style lavatory. It was a small space, as most of it was occupied by the toilet seat. She was being held in such a manner that her back was towards the mirror, and she couldn’t see his face.

In reflex, she was began to scream into the palm of her captor, making a muffled noise; at the same wriggling her body, trying to free herself from his grip.

He loved it when women struggled, even more so when they had no chance of escaping what was in store for them. He turned her left by ninety degrees almost effortlessly and pinned her to the wall. Then he let go of the grip around her waist, knowing perfectly well that his weight was more than enough to prevent her from moving. He fumbled in his pocket and took out a small pocket knife, which he held against his captive’s neck. Make one noise and I’ll cut your neck and throw you out of this moving train, he snarled. He was happy that it had the desired effect on her. He had scared her to death.

Just do as I say and you wouldn’t get hurt, he said, still pushing her against the wall.

He took out a piece of cloth from his pocket and tied it around her mouth, threatening her as he let go of his palm grip. Without even a try of scream from her, he had managed to replace her gag from his palm to the piece of cloth. Now, he released the hold on her body and made her turn around, forcing her to sit on the open Western style toilet seat. In seconds, he grabbed hold of her dupatta and used it to tie her hands to the water pipe behind the toilet seat. Tying the dupatta tightly around one wrist, he flung it around the water pipe, to bring it back in front and tied it around her other wrist. He had managed to complete the most precarious part of his task, the capture of his victim, within a couple of minutes.

He then stepped back as far as the small lavatory would allow him, to admire his handiwork.

The moment he had seen her step onto the carriage, he had known that he wanted her, very very badly. He saw her as a typical newlywed woman on her way to the hill station, to get fucked by her husband. He noticed the mehendi, still fresh on her hands (right upto her elbows); her traditional pink salwar suit along with a dupatta (not many women wore them these days!); a streak of red vermillion on her forehead just where her hair parted; her new mangalsutra which dangled proudly in front of her breasts; her hands almost full with designer bangles; and most importantly, the most natural ornament on her face — the mole near her upper lip.

He had her now, at his disposal, ready for his moment with this newlywed beautiful sophisticated lady, some other man’s wife.

The past couple of minutes had been a blur for Prerna. Pulled into the toilet, gagged, held against the wall, gagged, and then tied, everything happened so fast that she didn’t have time to register it. She became acutely aware of her situation when her captor stepped back, and looked her up and down, an evil smile forming on his face. Her hands were painfully tied to the water pipe behind her, in a very uncomfortable position.

It was then that she had her first look at that man, her captor. She saw him as an old man (50-55 years, she guessed), medium built, and a bit short. His belly was very large, out of proportion to the rest of his body (in a better state of mind, Prerna would have attributed that to chronic alcoholism!); it was almost spilling out of his shirt, which was unbuttoned all the way down to where his tummy bulge started. She saw his rough chest skin, covered with dense grey hair. She looked up to his face, which was wrinkled in a crude manner. His teeth, which she saw through that evil grin, were dirty, misaligned and eroded by constant chewing of tobacco. He was definitely not a man who belonged to an AC 2 tier compartment.

She saw him extend his evil smile; it was almost ear to ear now, making him look like an ugly goblin. Her mind was in a daze, unable to comprehend her position. But it was thrown into frenzy, with panic and despair filling her entire skull, as she heard, even over the loud rumbling sound of the train, the sound of a zipper being undone.

Her eyes dropped to where her captor’s hands were. After undoing his zipper, she saw him unbuckle his trousers. Her eyes, instead of following the trousers as they fell down to the ground in a flash, remain glued to where his hands were. He was not wearing anything underneath; his semi-erect penis had sprung out the moment he had undone his trousers, which his right hand was now stroking.

The moment of reality struck her. Her captor was going to turn into her rapist.

Prerna screamed the loudest cry for help of her entire life. However, the perfect mouth gag and the loud rumble of the train, made sure that none of the passengers sleeping soundly in the AC carriage, heard it.

He saw her scream into the mouth gag. It made his semi-erect penis twitch with excitement. His mouth was wet with saliva, the tip of his penis with pre-cum. She gulped in desperation. He realized that the time window for his ‘suhaag raat’ was limited; he didn’t have the luxury of time.

As his hands reached the knot of her salwar, she began to wriggle, like a fish does when taken out of water. He couldn’t undo it as she was moving too much. With the back of his right hand, he slapped her right cheek violently. SMACK! And again, SMACK! Her body lumped at the ferocious attack, giving him time to undo her salwar with ease. He pulled it all the way down her smooth milky legs and removed it completely, absent-mindedly putting it on a rack above the mirror, which Prerna hadn’t noticed before. Before she could recover from the double blow to her face, he hooked his rough fingers at the waistband of her new pink panty (part of set of sexy lingerie she had bought for her wedding and honeymoon), and pulled it swiftly down; consciously making sure to pocket it (in his front chest pocket).

He expected her to be shaved down there, as were most of the newlywed women. What he didn’t expect was the feminine pinkness of her vulval lips, so beautiful and well, lady like; it was one of the smoothest vulva’s he had ever seen. His now almost-erect penis gave a bigger twitch of excitement.

He noticed her vulva was completely dry, which was a surprise to him. Normally, these newlyweds thought about sex 24×7, especially on the way to their honeymoons, fantasising about the sexual pleasures awaiting them; which made their vaginas ooze out sexuality, in anticipation for their imminent fucking. But that was not the case with her; maybe she wasn’t turned on by her husband.

Hurriedly, he caught hold of the lower edge of her kurta and pushed it upwards, over her breasts, bundling it around her neck. He took his hands to her back, unhooking her pink bra, and immediately bringing them back to the front, in order to squeeze her just exposed heavenly breasts. He let out a moan of pleasure as he felt the smoothness of her young breasts, the taut milky white skin and perky pink nipples. Without much ado, he took the right one in his dirty mouth and started to suck with all his might; mauling and pinching the left one with his right hand. All this while, her mangalsutra oscillated in between her breasts.

The sensation of something wet brought Prerna to her senses, which she hadn’t completely regained since the slaps. She realized that that ‘something wet’ on her breast was the saliva of his captor, pouring out copiously from his dirty mouth. She tried to wriggle again, to free her breasts from the painful assault, but couldn’t move an inch due to the grip which his captor had around her waist with his left hand.

Unable to move, she started shouting again into her gag. Hearing her muffled attempt at shouting for help, her captor let out a groan of self-accomplishment, a ‘huh’!

Although he would have loved to play with such perfect breasts all night long, all nights for his entire lifetime, he didn’t have much time at his disposal. Letting go of her breasts, he adjusted her body, pulling her off the toilet seat slightly, with his left hand holding her around her waist. He spread her legs apart, pushing at her smooth soft thighs with his dark hairy ones, and positioned himself between them. All this while, she tried to oppose every movement he was making, but she just didn’t have the strength to match him. With his free right hand, he placed his fully erect penis at the entrance of her vagina, its moist pre-cum coated tip touching the lips of her pink vulva.

His penis gave the biggest twitch of excitement of the night while she shuddered with fear, desperation and despair.

Still holding her by her waist with his left hand, he used his right one to guide the tip of his penis beyond her vulval lips, his penis throbbing with ecstasy at their tightness. He left it there, at the edge of her vagina, and moved his right hand to her face, which was ashen with fear. He gripped her jaw tightly with his right hand, forced her face straight, and aligned it with his own; their nose tips barely a centimetre away.

She smelt his ugly face before actually seeing it close up. He still had that evil smile etched all over it. He saw her beautiful face and read her fear. He could hear her desperate attempts at shouting for help, feel her feeble attempts at wriggling herself free from his grip, and then, see her pearly tears roll down her elegant cheeks as she resigned to her fate.

Holding her jaw, he made sure her eyes were fixed on his own; as with one forceful thrust of his pelvis, he tore into her dry vagina.

She shrieked out in pain as his penis assaulted her dry vagina. Such was the force of his first thrust that his penis was almost completely embedded inside her the first time itself, she heard him release a low moan of pleasure.

He saw her eyes dilate in shock and heard her groan in pain. Bringing his penis almost all the way out of her vagina, he thrust again, this time a little less forcefully as it regained its original depth. Then, like a man possessed, he began to piston his penis in and out of her vagina, in forceful rough thrusts, grunting like a pig every time the tip of his penis hit her cervix.

She thought that this was her worst nightmare come true. With each thrust, she felt unbearable pain radiate from her vagina, to all over her body, right to her head. Her initial loud shriek of pain had given way to low groans, which were synchronised with his thrusts; almost as if the energy of his thrusts travelled all the way up to her throat, vibrating her vocal cords of their own accord.

He stared into her helpless eyes as he continued to thrust in and out of her vagina, which had now begun to respond to his assault. He could tell, by the decreased amount of force that was now required to piston in and out of her, that her vagina had begun to release her own sex juices. He could also feel the increased wetness around his throbbing shaft, and also on his thighs. She was really secreting a huge amount of juices, now, his every thrust made a sloppy noise in her copious juices. To his surprise, he heard her moan in pleasure into her gag. It was a low sound, but it was definitely a moan of pleasure. He immediately stopped his thrusts and withdrew his penis out of her dripping wet vagina.

She couldn’t believe that her vagina had begun to respond to this assault, as if it had a mind of its own. After fear and despair, she now felt immense shame as her vagina was adjusting and accommodating his rapist’s penis, trying to derive pleasure out of her rape. Maybe it was because of the slight repulsion she felt for her husband, maybe the feeling of being suppressed since childhood, maybe her womanhood needed an escape route. The initial pain had subsided; and with each and every thrust, she could now feel a wave of carnal pleasure radiate from her vagina, to all over her body, right to her head. She couldn’t believe her ears as a low moan of pleasure escaped her lips. At that moment, his rapist stopped fucking her and withdrew out of her vagina completely. To her surprise, her mind was swept by a wave of disappointment.

Bitch! Who do you think I am? Your husband! I am not here to pleasure you, he shrieked, anger sweeping his face. He had to do it now. He rarely did this to newlywed women. But he had to teach this ‘whore’ a lesson.

Before she could fathom the reason for his abrupt halt, she had been flipped over. If her earlier position had been uncomfortable, this was hell. Her dupatta got twisted more, increasing the pressure on her wrists; her shoulders were also twisted, making her delirious with pain. Her head now faced the dirty toilet seat, barely inches away; her mangalsutra hung down due to gravity and its lower end was well below the rim of the toilet seat, oscillating like a pendulum. Her knees were awkwardly bent, half her weight supported by the toilet seat. She felt her ass cheeks being drawn apart by his rough hands, and felt some wetness around her asshole. As she realized what was going to happen to her, she let out another shriek, her second last one that night.

To be continue NEXT PAGE ⇓

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