Nightmare on a Train

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Erotica  |  House: Stripping and Humiliation

George regarded the two youths sitting opposite him with more than a degree of disdain He felt absolutely certain that they were not travelling on first class tickets, despite the fact that they were occupying seats in a first class compartment. His first class compartment, moreover.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the more incensed he became. Train fares were not cheap any longer. George paid the difference so that he could travel in comfort, away
from the hoi polloi, so he was not best pleased to be sharing the exclusivity of his travel arrangements with a pair he felt sure had not invested the same amount as he to enjoy the privileges and perquisites. He determined to raise the subject when the ticket inspector made his rounds. The more he thought about it, the more angered he became. As time passed, he resented every moment more that they spent in the class to which they were so patently unentitled.
Finally, unable to control himself any longer, he cleared his throat to attract their attention. 
"Excuse me, but are you aware this is a first class compartment?" he enquired of them in measured tones.
They glanced up at him and then looked at each other; George thought, guiltily.
"I think you'll find plenty of Standard Class accommodation further down the train," he added.
Balefully, they both stared back at him. He met their gaze, sighed, tutted at their failure to react to his remarks, and retired behind his copy of The Daily Telegraph.
"Motherfucker," he heard muttered in an expressionless undertone.
George's heartbeat quickened slightly. Oh dear, he thought. He hoped there was not going to be any unpleasantness. Surely a person could make an innocent remark about what he assumed had been an inadvertent and genuine mistake without exciting angry reprisals.
"Turdbrain!" the other youth murmured, and the first snickered appreciatively.
George gripped the Telegraph more firmly, his unseeing eyes running along the lines of print, his ears straining for the least movement.
"Sittin' there in his poncy suit! Thinks he owns the fuckin' train!"
"Somebody ought to teach him to keep his fuckin' nose out of other folks' affairs!"
"Stuck-up bastard. Thinks he's better than us in his poncy suit, does he?"
"He wouldn't be quite so bloody stuck up without it, though, would he?"
They sniggered again and one blew the contents of his nose onto the window. George grimaced, but held his peace. He heard a cigarette lighter. He knew very well that he was sitting in a non-smoking compartment, but he was not going to make an issue of it. Obviously they were looking for trouble and he was damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of finding it with him, he told himself reassuringly. Probably they were smoking some illegal
substance or other anyway. It was more than likely that which accounted for their unreasonable attitude and behaviour in the first place.
It was then that he noticed a spreading brown stain in the centre of the Telegraph page where his eyes were resting. He stared at it uncomprehendingly until a wisp of blue smoke, quickly followed by the thinnest finger of yellow flame alerted him to the fact that his Daily Telegraph was on fire.
He threw it down and stamped on it vigorously. The two youths brayed with laughter.
"Why, you irresponsible hooligans!" he cried out in shocked anger, and then immediately wished he hadn't.
"What a wanker!" one of them guffawed, and sat back regardinghim with a bemused grin.
"Look, I am not prepared to put up with your anti-social behaviour. Would you kindly leave this compartment, or I shall be forced to call the guard," George said in his most imperious voice.
Both men continued to grin at him, but his eyes were drawn to one of them who withdrew a cut-throat razor from his pocket and smoothly opened up the blade.
"Let's cut the stupid bastard," he said quietly, still grinning.
"Yeah. Let's."
Slowly, they both rose and moved towards George.
"Now, look here. Don't threaten me like this, or I shall have to pull the Communication Cord and I think you'll find you shall have to pay the fine."
George knew the threat was empty before it had left his lips.
Whilst he was still speaking, his tie was grabbed and he was hauled off his seat by the knot. As he flopped down again, mildly choking,he saw the end of his silk foulard tie in the hand of his aggressor. He looked down and saw the sawn-off stump hanging down as far as the
third button of his shirtfront.
"Now before this gets any more serious, I think I ought to warn you . . . . " George began.
"And I think I ought to warn you, tosser, that when you're stark bollock naked, and grovelling on the floor in front of us, pleading not to be cut up any more, we might - I say might consider
letting you off," the youth with the razor snarled back at him viciously.
"Go on, cut his kit off of him," the other crowed.
George flinched as the razor slashed at the left breast of his jacket.
"I'd keep very still, if I were you, mate."
George froze.
He watched in fascinated horror as his jacket was peeled from him piece by piece. First the lapels, and then the pockets, tearing the fabric right down to the hem. Then each sleeve followed before the back seam was cut and each side was hauled off and thrown through
the open window of the moving train. His left leg was then grasped and the trouser fabric was
hacked off just above the knee.
George was horrified. He was furious. He wanted to decry the vandals, but he knew his rage was impotent. He was helpless. There was nothing he could do but succunb to their every indignity perpetrated upon him.
Two circles were cut into his shirt fabric to expose his nipples which were tweaked and teased by the two louts. He was forcibly bent over, his head pressed into the seat, and he felt the
blade run along the back seam of his trousers alarmingly close - so close, in fact, that the fabric of his underwear was scored also. And so in a thoroughly demeaning strip-tease, George was finally and mortifyingly laid absolutely bare, every strip of fabric, other than
his socks and shoes, having been sliced from his body. Spread-eagled across the compartment, head and shoulders on one seat, lower legs and feet on the other, he furthermore had to suffer thehumiliation - and pain - of being dry-shaved in his most intimate
Bundled unceremoniously off the train at the first halt, George found himself standing in his worst nightmare, stark naked and facing a sea of startled commuters.

Submitted: February 23, 2020

© Copyright 2022 Nder. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



I really like this story. How about another chapter or two to really humiliate the guy.

Mon, February 24th, 2020 3:08pm


Mon, April 6th, 2020 3:06pm

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