John has no interest in “used goods”

John stared at Ava's exposed, heaving breasts, glistening with sweat under the crimson lights. Her freckles seemed to dance across flushed skin. St. Anthreum's Face of Potential, they'd called her. Untouchable. Perfect. Now she was nothing but trembling, violated meat. Disgust curdled in his gut, sharp and unexpected. He scoffed, loud enough to cut through the noise. "Used goods?" His lip curled. "I'm not interested in leftovers." He turned his gaze deliberately away from Ava's pleading eyes to lock onto Larry's startled face. "If you," John spat the word, dripping contempt, "can drag home prizes like that... imagine what I could bring onto this train. Something untouched. Something worthy." The air crackled. Larry’s greasy smile froze, then twisted into something unexpected - surprise and amusement.

Larry threw his head back, a grating, phlegmy laugh ripping from his throat. "Funny guy!" he wheezed, slapping John’s shoulder hard enough to sting. "Real funny!" He wiped tears from his piggy eyes. "You got balls, kid, I'll give ya that." His laughter faded into a predatory grin. "Untouched, huh? Like... Professor Vale?" Larry leaned in conspiratorially, his sour breath engulfing John. "Ice Queen herself? Word is she hasn't been touched since puberty. Still sleeps clutching a damn crucifix." He chuckled darkly. "You think you could lure her onto the Sleazy Train?"

John kept his gaze locked on Ava, refusing to flinch. Her suspended body twisted violently as hands groped her breasts, kneading the soft flesh until it flushed deep crimson. A man buried his face between them, sucking greedily at a stiffened nipple while fingers pinched the other. Ava’s choked sob cut through the car – a raw sound of violation mixed with something deeper, wetter. Her hips bucked involuntarily against the air. John shrugged, a dismissive flick of his shoulders. "Maybe. Depends." His voice stayed flat, detached. "I want to see more of how you treat your guests first..." He watched impassively as Ava’s head snapped back, eyes rolling white as another man squeezed her breasts together roughly. "...before I decide if your little circus deserves a real star."

Larry’s grin widened, yellowed teeth glinting. "Fair enough." He snapped his fingers sharply.

At the signal, the mob surged. Hands, thick-knuckled and calloused, descended on Ava’s suspended form. They slid over the sweat-slicked curves of her hips, squeezed the trembling softness of her inner thighs, scraped nails across the delicate skin of her belly. Her milky flesh, dotted with freckles like spilled cinnamon, flushed under the ****—a stark, obscene contrast against the grime-streaked hands and yellowed fingernails pawing her. "Stop! Please!" Ava screamed, arching away from a hand sliding up her ribcage toward her bouncing breast. "Don’t touch me anymore!" Her frantic green eyes locked onto Larry’s smug face. "Mister! Help me!" The plea was raw, ****.

The tracksuit man grinned, his gold tooth flashing under the crimson lights. He reached up, ignoring the other hands claiming Ava’s body, and roughly cupped her cheek. His thumb dragged across her tear-streaked skin, smearing moisture. "Such a pretty doll," he rasped, his breath reeking of stale tobacco and decay. "Especially when you’re scared." Ava flinched violently, turning her face away with a choked sob. His fingers tightened, forcing her gaze back to his. "Look at me, lamb. See who owns you now."

Ava’s green eyes widened, pupils blown with terror and something darker—helpless arousal. Her lips trembled. "Please," she whispered, the word barely audible above the grunts and groans surrounding her, "just let me go..." Her plea was ragged, ****, utterly futile. The tracksuit man chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. His free hand slid possessively down her throat, over the frantic pulse fluttering there, and dipped lower to claim a swollen breast. His thumb circled her stiff nipple, rough and demanding. Ava cried out sharply, her back arching involuntarily into the touch even as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "You know you don’t mean that," he breathed against her ear, his voice thick with triumph. "You feel how wet you are for us?"

A heavy silence fell abruptly, sharp as a knife. The men froze mid-grope, hands hovering over Ava’s flushed skin. The Grey Eminence stepped forward, his polished shoes clicking softly on the grimy floor. His fedora cast deep shadows over his impassive face, but a faint curve touched his thin lips. He stopped inches from Ava’s suspended form, ignoring the tracksuit man entirely. His eyes, cold and assessing, roamed her exposed flesh—the sweat-slicked valley between her breasts, the frantic rise and fall of her ribs, the tear-streaked defiance still clinging to her flushed cheeks. A low chuckle escaped him, dry and unnerving. "Impressive performance, Miss Morris," he murmured, his voice carrying effortlessly through the silent car. "Truly captivating." He reached up slowly, deliberately. His gloved thumb traced the plump swell of her lower lip. Ava flinched violently, trying to turn her head away, but Larry’s crony held her jaw firm. "You understand your audience perfectly," the Grey Eminence continued, his thumb pressing insistently against her trembling lip. "The screams... the yelps... the delicious struggle..." His thumb pushed past her resistance, sliding wetly into her mouth. "You turn them ravenous."

Ava gagged around the intrusion, eyes bulging wide with primal terror. She tried to bite down, but the velvet glove filled her mouth. The Grey Eminence explored slowly, savoring the warmth, the tightness, the slick wetness of her tongue against his thumb pad, moving it like he was testing a thoroughbred’s teeth. He chuckled again, low and appreciative. "Such fine breeding. Such... responsiveness." He withdrew his thumb slowly, leaving a trail of saliva glistening on Ava’s bruised lips. She gasped for air, chest heaving wildly. "What are you saying?" she choked out, voice thick with tears and disgust. She strained against the hands holding her limbs, twisting with a sudden, **** strength, stronger than before. Her hips bucked wildly. "I really don’t want this! Let me go!" Her scream echoed off the metal walls.

"You sure about that?" the pervert in the tracksuit laughed, his gold tooth glinting like a fang under the crimson lights. He shoved his hand up Ava's thigh, ignoring her frantic kick. "Let's see how wet your cunt is!" he declared coarsely. "Show it to us!" With that command, the men holding her legs hauled them higher, bending her knees sharply toward her exposed chest. Simultaneously, the men gripping her arms lifted her torso down slightly. "Like this!" they laughed, positioning her suspended body horizontally in mid-air. Ava was held in a perverted parody of an OB-GYN exam, legs wide apart, hips tilted obscenely upward. Her skirt, already bunched around her waist, offered no protection. "Lift up her skirt, let us see the goods!" another yelled, his voice thick with lust.

Ava screamed from the top of her lungs, her body thrashing wildly against the iron grips. "Please stop it! I'm scared!" But there was no holding back these perverts. Rough hands grabbed handfuls of her navy skirt, hiking it up past her hips to reveal her white lace panties, soaked dark with sweat and arousal, plastered tightly against her trembling mound. A collective groan echoed through the car as dozens of eyes locked onto the damp patch. "Look at that!" someone crowed. "Dripping like a leaky faucet!" Another man snatched the St. Anthreum crest ribbon from her hair, stuffing it greedily into his pocket. "Mine!" he grinned. Then came the tearing sound—multiple hands grabbing her torn blouse and the remnants of her bra. With brutal efficiency, they ripped the fabric away, shredding her school jacket and blouse entirely. "There you go!" the men laughed triumphantly, tossing the scraps of uniform between them like trophies. Ava's magnificent breasts bounced freely with every ragged sob.

The tracksuit man's gold tooth flashed as he lunged forward, his thick fingers hooking into the waistband of her soaked panties. "No! No! No! Don't touch me...please don't hurt me!" Ava begged, her voice cracking with terror. One of the perverts, a rail-thin man wearing thick glasses fogged with lust, seemed to have a fetish for school uniforms. He was practically hyperventilating as he groped Ava's toned leg and knee sock. "Oh, it's the real deal—it really is the St. Anthreum uniform..." he gasped, his hands trembling. "I want her skirt...let's rip it off too..." Ava struggled, kicking futilely. "N-no! Please!" The uniform fetishist was too enamored to hear her pleas, too intent on having a memento of this special occasion. He grabbed a fistful of skirt fabric near her thigh and yanked hard. There was a sickening rip as the sturdy wool tore further. "Got it!" he crowed, clutching the torn piece like a sacred relic. He pressed it to his face, inhaling deeply as Ava screamed.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life, a voice echoing through the car. "The guest for tonight in car six is none other than Miss Ava Morris, a current student at the prestigious Saint Anthreum University also known as St. _Anthreum's Face of Potentia_l." The words were met with a round of applause from the men, their eyes never leaving Ava's struggling form. The Grey Eminence chuckled, his grip on her massive breast tightening. "It seems like you're the star of the show tonight, darling." He took her sensitive nipple in between his teeth and started sucking and biting on it. Ava gasped sharply, arching her back despite herself. Her nipple throbbed painfully, yet her hips bucked upwards involuntarily. She could feel the wetness flooding her panties, her embarrassment was palpable. "N-not true...I'm not...I'm not!" she protested weakly, her voice drowned out by the cheering crowd.

The conductor's voice grew louder, more commanding. "Everyone, please enjoy yourselves with the female passengers until you're fully satisfied." John's eyes widened. Ava was supposed to satisfy _all _of these men? And this kind of activity was also going on in the other train cars? The sheer scale of it hit him like a physical blow. Before he could process it, the gold-toothed tracksuit man grinned savagely. "You heard the man! Time to pop the cork!" His fingers hooked deeper into Ava's soaked lace panties, a damp white triangle clinging obscenely to her mound.

“Now," he rasped, his gold tooth gleaming, "let's see what all the fuss is about down here." His thick fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties. Ava screamed, arching violently. "No! Don't touch me there!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please... someone help me!" Her pleas dissolved into choked whimpers as he tugged. The lace stretched taut, then ripped apart with a sharp snap. The sodden fabric was flung aside, landing near Larry’s scuffed loafers.

With a final brutal tug, he ripped them clean off her hips, exposing her glistening, swollen pussy lips to the humid air. A collective gasp, then a roar of approval surged through the car. Ava screamed, a sound of pure terror mixed with something else – a raw, involuntary keen as the cool air hit her overheated flesh. Her freckled thighs trembled violently. "No! Cover me! Please!" she sobbed, trying futilely to clamp her legs together, but the men holding her ankles kept them wrenched obscenely apart.