24-10-2024, 08:24 AM
The morning sun filtered through the train station windows, casting long, pale shadows on the ground as the train screeched to a halt. She sat quietly, her body aching, her skin still tingling from the relentless use. Her mind felt numb, her thoughts swirling in a hazy blur as she reached for her neatly folded burqa and abaya. The soft fabric felt foreign against her skin after so many hours of being exposed, yet there was something comforting about covering herself once again.
She slipped into the abaya, its dark fabric dbanging over her body, concealing the marks and bruises that covered her skin. The burqa followed, the veil falling over her face, hiding everything but her eyes. It was almost as if she could pretend that nothing had happened, that beneath the modest layers, she was still the woman who had boarded the train days ago.
But the boys knew better.
They lingered behind her as she adjusted her clothing, their eyes tracing her movements, the memory of last night’s debauchery still fresh in their minds. She could feel their presence like a shadow, close and oppressive, but there was no escaping it now. They had followed her this far, and they weren’t going to let her go just yet.
As she stepped off the train, her legs wobbled slightly, a sharp reminder of what her body had endured. The station was bustling with life—people rushing to catch their trains, vendors selling food, the clamor of daily life seemingly oblivious to what had transpired within the car she had just exited.
She made her way toward the ticket counter, her steps slow and deliberate, the boys trailing close behind like a pack of predators. The burqa offered her a shield of anonymity, but she could still feel their eyes on her, the weight of their gaze pressing down on her as they walked through the station together.
When she reached the ticket counter, the clerk barely glanced up, too busy typing into his computer. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of what she even wanted. But before she could speak she looks at the boys and gave way to the one who behaved like a leader of pack, he stepped up beside her, his hand resting possessively on her back.
“Return tickets for all of us,” he said smoothly, his voice confident and sure, as if the decision had already been made.
The clerk looked up, his eyes flicking between the group, sensing the unspoken dynamic between them. He nodded slowly, punching in the details without further question. “How many?” he asked.
"All of us," the boy repeated, glancing back at the others who stood behind her, smirking.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t resist. She simply stood there, silent, as the boys purchased the tickets that would take them all back on the same journey, the same train. Another trip where they knew exactly how things would unfold.
The tickets printed with a mechanical whirr, the small slips of paper sliding across the counter. The boy grabbed them, dividing them between the group, then turned to her with a grin.
"Looks like we’re not done with you yet," he murmured, leaning in close enough that only she could hear, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered beneath the layers of her burqa, her body already anticipating what was to come.
As they left the station together, the boys chuckled and whispered among themselves, exchanging glances, the promise of another twisted adventure lingering in the air. And though her body was hidden beneath the folds of her abaya, she knew that the journey home would be just as intense—if not more so—than the one that had brought her here.
With each step, the weight of their unspoken claim on her followed, and as they walked through the bustling station, the world around them oblivious, she felt the inevitable pull of what was to come.
She slipped into the abaya, its dark fabric dbanging over her body, concealing the marks and bruises that covered her skin. The burqa followed, the veil falling over her face, hiding everything but her eyes. It was almost as if she could pretend that nothing had happened, that beneath the modest layers, she was still the woman who had boarded the train days ago.
But the boys knew better.
They lingered behind her as she adjusted her clothing, their eyes tracing her movements, the memory of last night’s debauchery still fresh in their minds. She could feel their presence like a shadow, close and oppressive, but there was no escaping it now. They had followed her this far, and they weren’t going to let her go just yet.
As she stepped off the train, her legs wobbled slightly, a sharp reminder of what her body had endured. The station was bustling with life—people rushing to catch their trains, vendors selling food, the clamor of daily life seemingly oblivious to what had transpired within the car she had just exited.
She made her way toward the ticket counter, her steps slow and deliberate, the boys trailing close behind like a pack of predators. The burqa offered her a shield of anonymity, but she could still feel their eyes on her, the weight of their gaze pressing down on her as they walked through the station together.
When she reached the ticket counter, the clerk barely glanced up, too busy typing into his computer. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, unsure of what she even wanted. But before she could speak she looks at the boys and gave way to the one who behaved like a leader of pack, he stepped up beside her, his hand resting possessively on her back.
“Return tickets for all of us,” he said smoothly, his voice confident and sure, as if the decision had already been made.
The clerk looked up, his eyes flicking between the group, sensing the unspoken dynamic between them. He nodded slowly, punching in the details without further question. “How many?” he asked.
"All of us," the boy repeated, glancing back at the others who stood behind her, smirking.
She didn’t argue. She didn’t resist. She simply stood there, silent, as the boys purchased the tickets that would take them all back on the same journey, the same train. Another trip where they knew exactly how things would unfold.
The tickets printed with a mechanical whirr, the small slips of paper sliding across the counter. The boy grabbed them, dividing them between the group, then turned to her with a grin.
"Looks like we’re not done with you yet," he murmured, leaning in close enough that only she could hear, his breath hot against her ear. She shivered beneath the layers of her burqa, her body already anticipating what was to come.
As they left the station together, the boys chuckled and whispered among themselves, exchanging glances, the promise of another twisted adventure lingering in the air. And though her body was hidden beneath the folds of her abaya, she knew that the journey home would be just as intense—if not more so—than the one that had brought her here.
With each step, the weight of their unspoken claim on her followed, and as they walked through the bustling station, the world around them oblivious, she felt the inevitable pull of what was to come.
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