Sweats

Sophia lurched awkwardly down the train carriage, the locomotive pulling into motion before she’d found a suitable seat. She needed somewhere private; the gummy she’d taken earlier had kicked in during the walk to the station, and although not too strong, she was already feeling uncomfortable about a four hour journey in a long, brightly-lit carriage. She staggered towards the cabins near the back, and to her joy, they were mostly empty, more gently lit, and with enough room to seat six people.

She shut the glass door behind her and slid into her seat by the window. It was past midnight already. She had not planned on this journey. She and Grant had flirted online for months. He’d seemed charming, handsome; in person, another arrogant rich boy. She’d travelled the distance with every intention of riding the life out of his entitled posh dick, but the spark of their correspondence was missing, the dinner a disappointment.

With the THC melting her thoughts together just a little, she found it hard to suppress the possibility that perhaps his money had been more enticing than she’d admitted. Her father had money, and consequently, so did she, and she suspected she was hardwired to seek it out in prospective partners. But he really had turned out to be a drip.

In the darkness outside, the window was near enough a mirror. She could see very clearly the wasted effort she’d made: smoky eyes, pouting red matte lips. Her exquisitely pale skin almost ghostlike against the glossy jet-black hair that would have qualified as a shag had it not stopped at the elegant line of her neck. In her cannabis haze, she had to concede that she was truly gorgeous, her stunning angular features and piercing eyes undeniable even in the murky reflection. The black satin dress with the shoestring straps showing the glory of her collarbone and shoulders, loosely contouring her slender curves. She’d even foregone underwear, having pictured his stunned expression as the dress slid up and over her head to reveal her sleek, toned body, the pert roundness of her ass, her soft, shaved pussy…

Sophia blinked at the realisation that she was getting turned on by her own reflection. Perhaps the gummy was a little stronger than she’d thought. But why shouldn’t she, she reasoned; what a waste. And his loss.

The train drew to its first stop, the platform illuminated yellow. Three tall, thin figures in hooded tracksuits pulled themselves up off the nearest bench and lumbered towards the door of her carriage. “Don’t come in here, don’t come in here…” she muttered under her breath, craving her solitude for the coming four hours. In the tacky halogen light of the carriage she could see the uniform sports grey of their outfits, shuffling past the door. She breathed relief as they appear to move by.

Not that they did nothing for her. Like many English women accustomed to financial safety, Sophia reserved a lingering thirst for anonymous men in grey sweats. Had she passed those men on the street, her eyes would have scanned for telltale dickprint, and she’d have salivated upon finding her mark. It was a frequent fantasy for her, to let herself be fucked by some looming stranger in comfortable grey cotton.

But that was a dream, and she was exhausted and high on a four hour train ride and not in the mood to share an enclosed space with three randoms.

She looked again. One of them had paused by the glass and peered in. And then… fuck. Beckoned to his friends to come back.

To Sophia’s dismay, they slid the door aside and bundled in, slouching into the three remaining corner seats with arms relaxed and legs wide. Up close, she could make out their faces: tanned, sharp jawlines, high cheekbones, and light brown crewcuts. She could easily have mistaken them for brothers. They suited their outfits, theylooked athletic. Sophia was mounting in awareness of how exposed she was, sans underwear in a revealing dress, and made a quick decision to wait a polite amount of time and then excuse herself from the cabin.

“You high yeah?” It was the man opposite. Sophia looked at him, unaware her eyes were half-closed, and tried to pass herself off as clear-headed.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know that look anywhere. You smoke?”

Fuck it. “Uh, I had a little earlier, I don’t… have any on me now.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I can just always tell.”

She flashed him a polite smile – “good eye” – and pretended to look at her

phone.

“Where you coming from?” The question came from the far corner.

Don’t answer. “I had a date, it didn’t work out.” What the fuck.

“Sorry man, guy’s an idiot.”

“Yeah, you’re fit as fuck.”

She stirred a little at the compliment. All three men were casting their gaze over her body. Under the haze of the edible, the attention felt unusually good, despite her wariness.

“Thanks, heh…” she batted her eyes. “Um, actually, I wasn’t into him…”

She relaxed, albeit cautiously, and described her evening as best she could. It did make her feel a little better about her experience, and herself, to hear their commiserations and their loud, abrasive mockery of Grant. But it was hard, and inadvisable, to drop her guard; these men hadn’t taken their eyes off her since they walked in. Their stares made her shift in her seat, although she felt unable to cross her arms or legs without coming across as guarded. Her nipples hardened and she felt goosebumps at the certainly that they were imagining her body. Their intent crept under her skin.

“You’re on here for four hours?”

“Um, yeah… it’s a long journey.” She shrugged. “I’m probably going to try and sleep through it…”

The one by the door leaned out to check the corridor before turning back. “You do coke?”

“What?”

“Do you do coke?” he slid a baggy out of his sweats. Sophia’s stare alighted on it, eagerly, flitted to his crotch, and then back to the baggy. Of course she liked coke.

“Y…eah, occasionally.”

“Nice, man. If you prefer to stay awake.”

He proffered the bag, and she took it without thinking.

“I can’t just… are you sure? You’ve just met me.”

“I’m sure man, enjoy.” All three grinned. At her, then at each other.

She weighed up they predicament of accepting cocaine off three strangers in a train cabin in the middle of the night as she peeled it open. She decanted a reasonable measure onto her wrist as she reminded herself of the prudence of keeping her wits, and her inhibitions, at hand. She questioned what they’d try next if she did this, as she loudly inhaled the clump of powder.

Very soon, her doubts became replaced with a wave of mildly delighted confidence. Being very lightly dressed in a cabin full of rough boys didn’t seem as fraught as it had five minutes ago. And lucky them, she thought, to be in the company of someone so exquisitely sexy.

“Fuck”, she giggled, and helped herself to another measure, the high bringing the posh girl to the surface as she forgot to ask whether that was even okay. But it seemed to be–they were all too happy to watch her shovel the stuff up her nose. She handed the bag back, wearing an unmistakable grin. Her heart was thumping, and their leering looks at her body were melding nicely with the rapidly rising sense of her own charming gorgeousness. She was getting less and less bashful about looking them up and down, too.

The guys passed the bag around and each took their own doses. The cabin was a chorus of sniffing and quiet swearing. She tried to remember their names – they’d introduced themselves earlier and she’d dismissed them from memory almost instantly. Her head rocked playfully to the side as she took in the room, that ditzy grin plastered all over her face. Sophia had a history of letting evenings get out of control once the powder came out.

“You’re posh, yeah?”

“Umm…” there was no right answer to this question. “I mean…”

“Yeah, she’s posh.” Knowing snickering rolled around the carriage.

“Alright, a little” she smiled, hunching her shoulders in mock embarrassment. “I’m slumming with you guys though, right?”

“Yeah? You’re down in the dirt now?”

“Oh, completely” she laughed.

“So what do posh girls like? Aside from coke?”

Sophia put a dramatic finger on her chin, feigning thought.

“Well… all the posh girls I know have a thing for grey sweats.”

She removed the finger from her chin and reached over to her right, giving the soft cotton of his thigh a taunting tickle.

“Yeah?” The man opposite cocked his head to one side. “We’re doing it for you, are we?”

There was a part of Sophia still urging caution. Unfortunately, that part was more or less severed from her amplified craving for attention. Every chance to let one of these boys think they were about to fuck her was another hit of dopamine, another reminder to herself that she really was that beautiful, that sought after. She hadn’t dressed in next to nothing merely for Grant’s benefit; everyone she’d walked past today had taken a glimpse of pure, gorgeous elegance, and now she was riding two lines and mainlining the attentions of a room full of large, sexually aggressive men. As long as she kept teasing them just right, they’d be feeding her cocaine and desperate for her for the entire journey.

“Oh yeah.” Her fingers didn’t leave that spot on her neighbour’s leg. They stroked lazily left and right. “Because… you can see everything.” She swung her head round to face the man she was touching with a coked-out smirk. He glanced down at her hand, drifting up and down his inside leg, then up at her with a degrading leer that made her ache with mischief.

The truth was that Sophia was not playing the delicate game of tease she thought she was. It would be more accurate to say that she was indulging in extremely sluttish behaviour and failing to keep her recklessness in check. With the train rumbling around all them, and in her altered and rather exposed state, the space felt like a cocoon where she could let her guard down and misbehave. Sophia had a history of letting coke take her evenings out of control – she’d gone down on friends she shouldn’t have before, and gone home with people she really shouldn’t have. But never had she acted out in a public place, or purposefully inflamed the attentions of people who made her feel unsafe.