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            Molly’s first clue that this was going to be a bad day was when she looked at her alarm clock. The glowing red numbers said, 7:32.

            “Shit,” she said.

            She was going to be late for her first day at her great new job. The job started at 8:00. To get to the city, she had to take a one-hour commuter train ride. After she got off her train, she still had a ten minute walk to get to her office building. All of which meant she should have boarded her train almost an hour ago.

            And it took 10 minutes to get to the station.

            Knowing she wasn’t going to have time for breakfast, Molly jumped out of bed. One quick shower later, and she was hunting for clothes.

            The day before, Molly spent a lazy Sunday not getting much done. Her mistake was in drinking wine with lunch. Wine led to harder drinks, and, before she knew it, the day was gone, frittered away in a haze of alcohol. Unfortunately, among the things Molly didn’t get done was her laundry. She had gone as far as putting some clothes in the washing machine, but not as far as putting her damp clothes into the dryer. She cursed herself now as she realized that this meant she had almost nothing clean.

            “Shit,” Molly said again, as a quick check of her lingerie drawer revealed that she had no clean bra or panties. She would have to go commando.

            Fortunately, the dress she put on had a knee-length hemline, and, if she was careful, no one would ever know about her lack of underwear.

            At least she looked good in these clothes. She was tall and slender, yet with reasonable curves. Her breasts were pert proud D-cups. Her butt was full and round. She wore her blonde hair to her collar, and preferred not to rely on makeup or jewelry. Which was just as well: this morning, she didn’t want to take the time to put either on.

            Molly didn’t realize that the seams on her cheap dress were held together with the cheapest, poorest quality thread available, and that whoever sewed the threads did a shoddy job to begin with, even before the weak thread entered into it.

            After setting a personal record for getting dressed, Molly put on a pair of sandals, grabbed her purse, and was out her front door at 7:51, 19 minutes after getting out of bed.

            Molly got to the station exactly at 8:00, shaving a minute off her normal time by walking as fast as she could, and briefly sprinting after a glance at her watch.

            Buying her ticket and getting to the platform her train would leave from took Molly five minutes, and  she got to the platform at 8:05, just in time to see her train pull out. A quick glance at the schedule board told her there was another train in five minutes, but that it passed through the station without stopping, and that she would have to wait five minutes after that for her next train, which meant she wasn’t going to be able to leave the station until 8:15.

            She wasn’t going to be able to get to work until almost 9:30, an hour and a half after she was supposed to start. What a great start to her first day!

            Hungry, hung over, worried about how badly her day was going so far, Molly decided that, no matter what happened from now on, she would not miss her train. So she stood at the edge of the platform, as close to the yellow safety line as she could. This way she could quickly get on the right train by more or less being the first in line.

            Molly waited, fretting. After several minutes, she checked her watch, and was unhappy to see that it was only 8:08. The non-stop train was due in two minutes, then she had to wait five more minutes for her train. There was nothing she could do now except be sure she to get on the right train and hope her new bosses would understand. She wondered if she would even have a job by the time she got to work.

            Then, for a moment, Molly thought her luck was about to change. A voice she recognized said, “Hi, Molly.”

            She turned around and looked for the speaker. Standing in front of her was a guy she had met at the station just a week before. His name was Connor, and he was a big, sandy-haired guy, tall and athletic, and in great shape. They talked at their first meeting, and hit it off, and ever since, Molly had hoped they would have the chance to talk again, because she rather liked him.

            He was smiling, she was pleased to see. She smiled back. “Hi,” she said.

            “I didn’t expect to see you here,” Connor said. “I’ve never seen you here this late before.”

            That was true. Her schedule and his were the main reason they hadn’t seen each other since last week.

            “I’m late for work,” Molly said with a little embarrassment, “on my first day.”

            “Not good,” Connor said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

            “I don’t think so,” Molly said, “but thanks for asking.” She was already feeling better. This time, she should have enough time to ask for Connor’s phone number, or give him hers before she had to get on her train.

            At this point, Molly was only paying attention to Connor. She had no idea how close she was standing to the edge of the platform, and was only barely aware of the roar of the arriving non-stop train, even though the sound of the arriving 3000 hp locomotive and its train was as loud as a jetliner.

            Because she was talking to Connor, Molly stood with her back to the tracks, facing away from the arriving train.

            One brightly painted locomotive and six equally brightly painted double-deck commuter cars roared past the station platform at 60 miles per hour. The second car in the train was old; in fact, it was one of the oldest cars the commuter railroad owned and it was in great need of body work after many years of hard use. Several bent pieces of metal protruded from the frame. Not far enough to be a danger to anyone nearby but close enough that they could possibly catch hold of anything being blown around by the wind, such as a skirt. As the train passed, a strong blast of air, a wall of wind, followed it. Molly was inches away from the edge of the platform, and the wind of the train’s passing lifted up her skirt, causing it to billow around her waist.

            Molly first realized something was wrong when the column of air washed over her. She looked down and saw that the air pressure was lifting her skirt up, causing it to billow out around her waist.

            The first thing Molly thought, the only thing she thought, was that she wasn't wearing panties. She tried to push her skirt back down. However, before she could do anything, before she even realized it was happening, she felt a tug as the hem of her dress snagged on one of the rough edges of the second coach.

            The finest threads wouldn’t have stood up to the force of nearly a thousand tons of train traveling at 60 miles per hour, and the shoddy threads in the stitching of her dress had even less of a chance. They gave way instantly, before Molly could even realize what was happening, and she turned her head in time to see her ruined dress, flapping like a flag from the side of the coach as it sped through the station and onto the tracks that would take it to the city.

    Molly had barely had the time to realize what was going on, and now she was naked, her carefully trimmed blonde thatch, round butt, and dolphin tramp stamp exposed to all the commuters on the platform. None of them were looking at her just then, but Molly instinctively shrieked in surprise and fear as the train ripped her clothes off, and that got the attention of everyone there. Now all eyes in the station were on her.

            Molly shrieked again, then covered her breasts and crotch as best she could with her hands, trying to hide her thatch from further view. Her purse slid out of her grip and landed on the platform as she did so.

            “No!” she cried. She couldn’t believe that it had taken only a second or so for her to end up naked in a public place she used five days a week.

            Her only thought was that she had to get out of there. She acted on it. Keeping her hands positioned to cover herself as best she could, Molly ran from the platform and into the station, which was the only way out. As she ran, her sandals flew off her feet and skidded along the surface of the platform, leaving Molly not only naked, but barefoot as well. Oblivious to this newest clothing misadventure, Molly kept her eyes on the exit, ignoring everything else as much as she could.

            Molly ran across the platform, giving the commuters still at the station a fine view of her shapely butt as she ran to go with the view from the front they’d already had.

She Takes the 8:15 into the City
An ENF story for your enjoyment.

Mature Content

This content is intended for mature audiences.

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                Jennifer didn't realize her last customer of the night was going to cause trouble until too late. He certainly didn't look like he could be trouble. He was an average-looking man of average height with close cropped dark hair, well dressed, but not expensively so, who appeared to be in his early 30s. He looked like he worked at a job that paid well. Certainly, nothing about him signaled trouble. When he walked up to the counter of the clothing shop Jennifer worked at with a stack of t-shirts in his hand, she had less than ten minutes to go until her shift ended and she could go home.

                "Will that be all?" Jennifer said as the man set the shirts down on the counter. She reached for them, gave them a quick count, unfolded them and started to scan the tags.

                "No," the man said. "There's one more thing." He pulled out a gun and pointed it at her chest. "Give me all the money in the register."

                "Oh, my God," Jennifer said, trying to open the register with trembling fingers. "Please don't hurt me."

                "Just do as I say and you'll be fine. Open the register and give me the money."

                When he had the money from the register in his hand, the man looked at it, obviously unhappy with the amount, and said, "This is it? It's not much."

                "We're not a high-volume business," Jennifer said.

                "I see," the man said. He took hold of her arm and led her away from the counter. "We're going into the back room."


                "I want to make sure you can't call the police, so I have time to get away."

                Jennifer didn't like the sound of that. She immediately thought of one way he could keep her quiet."Please don't kill me."

                "I'm not going to kill you." He kept his hand on Jennifer's arm and held her tightly until they were in the back room. This was a small office, just large enough for a desk, a chair, a computer stand, a filing cabinet, and a supply closet against the back wall. The walls were of concrete, and the floor was cement. A jacket and a sweater, left in the store by customers and never claimed, hung from hooks on the wall to her right, just in front of the supply closet. The only window was small and dirty and high up on the wall opposite the door. It let in almost no light at the best of times. Now, after dark, Jennifer could see only dimly.

                "Sit in the chair." The man's voice echoed a little in the barely decorate room. He pointed to the chair behind the desk as she spoke.

                Jennifer sat in the chair, which faced the only door.

                "Take your shirt and bra off."


                "Take your shirt and bra off," the man said again, pointing his gun at Jennifer's head. "I want whoever finds you tomorrow to get an eyeful." He grinned, obviously amused at the thought.

                Jennifer didn't want to strip, but knew she had no choice. Avoiding eye contact with the man, she took off her white uniform golf shirt and the white bra she wore under it.

                "Drop them on the floor."

                Jennifer did so.

                "Nice," the man said, feasting his eyes on Jennifer's proud, perky 34DDs. They were completely natural, full, firm, and tipped with pink nipples and aureoles the size of coasters. He stepped around behind her. The muzzle of his gun was cold and hard, seeming to dent her skin as he pressed it against the back of her neck.

                "Now take your shoes off."

                Jennifer kicked her sandals off. She shivered at the feel of her bare feet on the cold concrete floor.

                She started to unbuckle her pants. She had them completely unbuckled and partially unzipped when the man said, "I'm going to let you leave those on, but since you've already unbuckled them that far, you can leave them that way. Now put your hands behind your back."

                Reluctantly, Jennifer did so. The man pulled her wrists together and looped rope around them, pulling it tight, then passing it around the back of the chair and looping it around Jennifer's waist. He wrapped the rope several times around her waist and the back of the chair and her wrists, pulling it tight each time. He seemed to take his time with the knots used to secure the rope. Jennifer thought he was enjoying this too much.

                He then wrapped more rope around her upper arms and around the back of the chair, then above and below her breasts, again wrapping it several times, again pulling it tight, and again knotting it securely.

                He bound her ankles next, then ran a length of it to a rung at the back of the chair. As he did this, Jennifer said, "Do you really have to do this? I promise, I'll give you time to get away before I call the police."

                He paid no attention to her, focusing instead on tying her knees.

                When Jennifer was bound, the man backed away from her. She couldn't see him, but could hear the sounds of him opening the supply closet behind her.

                Then he was behind her again. He grabbed her blonde hair by the ponytail and pulled her head back. "Open your mouth."

                Jennifer did so. The man pushed a handful of wadded-up paper towels into her mouth. He let go of her head and picked up a roll of tape. He tore some off the roll, pulled it over her lips, and pressed it down tight.

                "That should do it," he said. He squeezed her shoulder, then let his hands slide down to her breasts. Jennifer moaned in protest as the man squeezed them. He spent some time fondling them, pinching her nipples and rolling her breasts under his fingers.

                Eventually, his exploration of Jennifer's breasts ended, and he walked around in front of her. She watched as he picked up her discarded shirt and bra. "I think I'll take these," he said. He picked up her shoes. "These, too."

                "Don't do this to me! Don't leave me," Jennifer tried to say, but it came out muffled into incomprehensibility by her gag, sounding like, "mun'mh mmh mmhmmfh mupfh mhpfh! Mmn'mpfh mhmmhpfh mhpfh!"

                The man paid no attention to her. She moaned as he stuffed her clothes and shoes into a backpack. Then he walked over to her purse, which hung from a hook on the wall next to the abandoned sweater and jacket. "This yours?" He pointed at her purse.

                Jennifer nodded.

                He reached in and took out her wallet and cell phone and added them to his bag along with the rest of her belongings.

                "Take care of yourself, blue eyes," he said. Then he was gone, closing the office door behind him.

                Jennifer waited until she was certain he was gone, then she started frantically struggling with the rope around her wrists.

* * * * *

                When she finally stopped struggling, too tired to continue, Jennifer was as tightly bound as ever. She could feel tears rolling over her cheeks and across her gagged lips.

                "Hrrp." Help. How frustrating it was to be unable to make a single legible sound. Even when she attempted to yell, the best she could manage was a sort of muffled grunt.

                Still, she tried again. "Hrrp."

                She waited for a reply. She heard none.

                This didn't surprise her. Her store was in a strip mall near the edge of her city. The stores on both sides were empty, as the entire mall was suffering from a decline in business. When the last store was closed for the night, the parking lot was empty and deserted. Still, she had to try.

                When no one came to her rescue, Jennifer looked around her prison. It was very dark right now. The only window let in the dim light from a lamp that shone over the back of the store. The only other light came from under the door; the robber must have left at least some lights on when he was finished.

                When no one answered her muffled calls for help, Jennifer struggled with her bonds again, more out of a desire to do something than out of any real hope that she could get free. She already knew from her first attempts that the robber had wound the rope tightly enough to restrict her ability to move her hands, and tied it so that she couldn't feel any knots. He seemed to be good at tying up pretty sales clerks.

                Jennifer had no idea how long she struggled. Again, she only stopped when she was absolutely too tired to continue. Tired and frustrated, she started to cry.

                Jennifer only stopped crying when she ran out of tears. When she could cry no longer, she sniffed and looked around the office. She could vaguely see the shape of the desk just in front of her. She began to wonder if there was anything in the desk she could use to get free.

                She struggled for a while to move her chair, but couldn't; her feet didn't reach the floor, and the chair was too heavy for her to move it without being able to use her feet to help her. She tried, nonetheless, and only succeeded in confirming that she wasn't going to be able to move the chair with her feet tied as they were.

                She resigned herself to being there all night.

* * * * *

                The time passed slowly for Jennifer. Because the room was dark, and she couldn't see a clock from where she sat, Jennifer had no idea what the time was. She was tired, but was too scared to sleep. Her back hurt and her wrists and hands were numb, the tight rope around them squeezing the feeling out of them. She spent some more time struggling with her bonds, and then she heard a voice. She froze and listened.

                It was a loud, deep, voice. "Police Officer," it said.  "The front door is open and the lights are on. Is anyone here? Do you need assistance?"

                "Mmm gghh," Jennifer said, trying to get the cops' attention. She could hear him walking around the store. He sounded like a big man, and he had a distinctive footprint. She could track his movements fairly easily because of his heavy footfall. He was probably wearing boots, a rational part of her brain suggested.

                Heart beating in suspense, Jennifer listened to the cop's footsteps as they finally approached the office door. She couldn't see the knob turn, but could swore she heard it.

                Then the door swung open and the officer entered.

                He flipped on the lights, then stopped, staring in surprise at the sight in front of him.

                "What the fuck?" he said when he saw the bound and gagged blonde store clerk.

                She struggled and tried to speak to the officer as his eyes dropped to her beautiful bare breasts and lingered there for several seconds. He feasted his eyes on her breasts while she moaned in outrage and protest.

                Finally, he said, "Shit. I'm sorry. Let's get you out of there."

* * * * *

                An hour later, Jennifer entered the apartment she shared with her friend Samantha. As it turned out, she hadn't been tied up that long before the police officer regularly assigned to patrol that area saw that the store was empty and went to investigate. He had discovered her tied up and quickly released her. Now, she was tired and wanted only to sleep for the rest of the night. She would have to go down to the police station tomorrow and make a statement, but for the moment, she had nothing to do but to attempt to recover from her ordeal.

                Because the robber had stolen her shirt, among other things, she was wearing the pink sweater that had been hanging up in the office after being abandoned there by its original owner. Jennifer was only 5'4" herself, but this sweater was designed for a much smaller, and rather less well-endowed, owner than even her. It was too short for her and wouldn't close over her ample bust.

                Now, she just wanted to shower and have something to drink and unwind. Maybe talk to Samantha. That usually helped. She dropped her keys back into her purse, then dropped her purse beside the front door.

                "Samantha," she called out. "Are you here? I've had the worst day, and I need to talk mmpmph -- " She was taken by surprise by a hand suddenly  clamping itself over her mouth and pulling her back against a body.

                Jennifer wasn't certain what happened next. Whatever happened, she supposed she must have been unconscious for a few minutes as a result of it. When she woke up, she was tied to a chair in her closet, dressed only in her white thong. She was once again bound and gagged.

                She had more rope around her wrists and waist, and around her upper arms and chest. She also had rope around her knees and ankles, and another rag in her mouth and another piece of tape covering it.

    The same man who had robbed her and tied her up at the store was leaning over her

                "Sorry, honey," he said with a smile. "Normally, I'd've been gone when you got back, but it looks like you got free before I could get out of here."

                "Uue aaztar," Jennifer said through the new piece of tape over her mouth. You bastard.

                "Now, I've gotta go. It's been a pleasure meeting you."

                Then he was gone. After several seconds, Jennifer heard the front door open and close. She looked around. She couldn't believe this was happening.

                Could she get out of here? Where was Samantha? That was a thought. Maybe Samantha could help her.

                Knowing how hard it was to speak through her gag, Jennifer tried as hard as she could to make herself heard. "Mmmmmm."

                The reply came from Samantha's room at the end of the hall. "Mmmmmm."

                Shit. Samantha was here, and couldn't help her. She must have been home when the creep broke in. Now she was bound and gagged, too.

                Jennifer blinked back tears while she tried to think of a way to get out of her bondage. She couldn't think of anything. There was no way to go anywhere, and nothing she could use to get free -- the floor of the closet was bare.

                It had already been a long night, and it was showing no signs of ending.






Jennifer's Long Night
It's about time I added something. I hope you enjoy this.

I made a few changes and corrected one or two errors.


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