Kybalico

🚝Train x Train 🚉 I

Added 2025-05-03 02:20:41 +0000 UTC

Every morning, I step into the train.

Uniform pressed, bag in hand—just another schoolgirl. But inside, I already know what’s coming.

The train sways. Metal creaks. Straps jolt above me. And then… fingers.

Hands I don’t recognize. Different every time. New strangers. New patterns. But the same outcome.

I’m touched by people I’ve never seen. Again and again.

At first, I resisted. I tried to act normal. To hold myself still.

But now… my body betrays me before they even touch.

A brush along my thigh, and I shudder. A palm over my chest, and a moan slips past my lips before I can bite it back.

I try to stay quiet. I really do.

But it always escapes.

Because my body isn’t waiting anymore—it’s trained.

Conditioned by repetition. By uncertainty. By pleasure I never gave permission for—but can’t deny.

Now, the softest graze makes me pulse. My legs tremble. Heat floods between my thighs before anything even happens.

I don’t know where the first touch will land—my back, my chest, my inner thigh. That’s part of it. My nerves stay wired. My skin twitches in anticipation. I’m already wet before the train even moves.

And when they finally do touch me—

A thigh. A breast. Lower—

“Mmn… n-no…” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut as my back arches helplessly. “I-It’s not supposed to feel this good…”

But it does.

Every morning, I tell myself: This time, I’ll resist.

And every morning, I leave with shaky legs and soaked panties.

No matter how much I try to fight it, the pleasure always wins.

My body’s been trained.

Tamed.

I’m not trying to be naughty. I swear I’m not.

But I can’t stop reacting. My hips move without thinking. My breath trembles. My hands cover my mouth, trying to hide the soft, shameful sounds I make.

Why does it feel so good?

Why does my body love being touched by strangers I’ll never know?

I don’t want to be a bad girl

So why do I feel like one