Not as much as they might have wanted...

One fortunate thing about just how drunk these two bastards are is that they clearly cannot get it up. The one in front of you presses against your thigh, and there is not a trace of anything hard down there.

Still, they seem content with molesting you, the one up top seeming to practically get off on kissing you and massaging your breasts alone, the one below going at your pussy with a vengeance. You feel your knees start to quiver, the pleasure-- if unwanted-- building steadily inside of you. For drunk, homeless, would-be rapists, these guys know what they're doing.

You glance up at the clock, surprised to see that six minutes have already passed. You stopped noticing the man below you taking pictures of your gushing pussy periodically, keeping record of this encounter for the two men to jack off over later, no doubt. Time seems to vanish, just like you've been taught all other social constructs should, as they continue to lavish you with pleasure.

The one on top eats your cries of passion as the one below drinks up your juice as they bring you to climax. Finally, they both pull away, adjusting your clothes to look presentable and helping you stay steady on your feet. By the time the train finally arrives about one minute later, you are able to hold yourself up again, the men moving back towards their bench behind you.

Shaking yourself, you remember your date with destiny, and hop onto the train, checking your phone to remind yourself of your stop.