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April O'Neil - One Hell of a Rough Night.	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 7433 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
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PART TWO - FIRST CONTACT.
Chapter 1.
She descended the stairs into the dimly lit and deserted subway, happy to get out of the vile weather and one step closer to getting home. There was no one else around. A few brightly coloured moulded-plastic seats in short rows, dirty graffiti tagged tiled walls with three or four pillars in a line, a couple of metres back from the edge.
Back in the rear corner over April’s right shoulder, the lights weren't working and that place was plunged into deep disturbing shadow. And yet... Was there something in that shadow...? Something slightly darker still?
Her phone pinged, distracting her and she automatically scooped it out of her rain-mac pocket. The screen was smeared with a couple of displaced rain drops, which she tried unsuccessfully to wipe away. There was an MMS from Dave. Part of her didn't want to look but at the same time she felt like she couldn't resist. It was probably a dick pic.
She was half right. There was a dick on screen, well a sliver of dick, but it wasn't Dave's. Apparently, he'd decided on the cabbie's bonus would be a blowjob from that poor unnamed school-girl and the photograph was evidence of it taking place.
The poor girl was already suffering and April knew from prior experience that coked-up Dave could go for hours, and his balls refilled inhumanly fast. The underage teen had been made to start early - and not on Dave.
The photo described the cabbie, an Asian guy in a turban, sitting in his taxi's driver's seat with the girl kneeling across the passenger seat with her head in his lap. Dave was apparently poking his iPhone through the buzzed-down driver's window. The cabbie's hand was in the back of the girl's head and she had all but an inch of his shaft down her throat. One tiny hand was on his balls and the other gripping the back of the seat. The Cabbie's free hand appeared to be beneath the girl, cupping a handful of small perky tit.
April clicked off her phone and slipped it back into her pocket. And then, standing there alone and yet feeling vulnerable on the subway platform, April suddenly remembered the shadow in the shadows and she turned her head to take another look. There was definitely something there and she squinted hard, forcing her eyes to work through the colour-absorbing shadow. Eventually her brain caught up with what she was seeing and started to fill in the shapes and textures.
It was indeed a humanoid shape. Wearing a huge, dun coloured trench-coat, the sleeves filled out by what had to be bulky arms. Cascading over the turned-up collar of the coat and hanging off very broad shoulders was a mess of lank, long black hair, unwashed hair by the texture. It made whoever it was seem more like an overweight metal-head. But there was something else about the hair. It didn't seem real somehow, more like a wig or something. The way it fell maybe? The turned-up collar was combined with a thick scarf that concealed the guy's nose and mouth and the wig disappeared beneath the wide brim of a large, dark fedora-type hat.
She was instantly reminded of that reasonably fun scary-movie 'Mimic' from back in the nineties that had been on cable all the time in her youth. They had been man-sized in-disguise cockroaches. The memory gave her an instant associated shiver of trepidation and she took another step away into the opposite direction, where there was more light.
For something else to distract her, she still wasn't a hundred percent that the fat guy in the hat coat and wig wasn't just a fragment of a tired and fear-filled imagination, April glanced back down at her iPhone and was halfway gratified that there was another MMS waiting for her. She flicked the phone on, and opened the photo-message.
Of course, it was another school-girl-performing-blowjob-on-Cabbie image. Though essentially a duplicate of the previous pic, this time the poor girl's stretched mouth was up at the top end of the cabbie's cock. Her 'o' shaped lips resembling a faucet of unspooling frothy saliva. Though the rest of the scene was identical other than the Cabbie's unveiled cock, which was the shocking element, the cock looked like it was over ten inches in length. The photo was attached to a message that simply displayed a shocked face emoji.
April heard an echoing guttural cough from behind her. It made her jump and gasp and almost drop her phone. She pocketed it quickly as the initial cough was followed by someone hawking and spitting disgustingly. It was definitely a male sound, and was followed by a deep growling grumbling wheeze. And it was not from the mimic monster in the corner either. She whipped around and saw a figure stumbling drunkenly down the stairs leading to the platform. Step by step, from the feet upwards, this newcomer was slowly revealed to resemble a wrestler or a body builder. He was huge incredibly well muscled, short in height and extremely stocky, with shoulders that would get stuck in the entrance of a theatre and arms and legs like tree trunks. He wore skin tight grey pants, white sneakers and an unzipped leather jacket that revealed a latex wifebeater beneath. His head was shaved but he had a pitch-black jawline-beard and no moustache. He looked drunk.
Aware that she was alone in the subway platform and that the guy was obvious three sheets to the wind, all of which combined, April saw as putting her in potential danger. So, she slipped quickly and quietly around to the front of one of the pillars, hoping that it would be enough to conceal her presence from the newcomer.
The newcomer, though obviously drunk and unsteady on his feet, quickly appeared to become aware of the shadow in the shadows. April risked peeking around the edge of the pillar and watched as the bodybuilder started grumbling and then shouting incoherently at the shadow-stranger who, just like the monsters in ‘Mimic’ just stood there like a statue. Cursing with a barely enunciated drawl, the newcomer stormed into the shadows filling the rear corner of the platform.
The bodybuilder guy was shouting and swinging his arms around at the statue, getting into his face, that he incidentally towered over. The shadow-statue suddenly moved, blur-like. It wasn't much of a move, hardly a move at all, nothing that April would be able to describe, maybe the flash of an arm or a leg. And yet the result was the bodybuilder instantly and literally floored, face down, out cold.
There was a light in the periphery of April’s vision, an increasingly loud metallic squeal and then the train was sliding into the subway, coming to a halt in the platform and the doors sliding open with their own rugged hiss. April peered back into the shadowy corner one last time but there was only the darkness of the walls and the bulky shape of the knocked-out bodybuilder. The other shadow, the shadow-stranger was gone.
April boarded the subway car, and yet again, to the rear of the car there was a shadowy area as though the lights had just failed.
She took a bench seat at the far end of the car well in the brightest lit area. Just before the subway car started to move, the shadow-stranger appeared, just for a moment she saw it in the light through the smeared and graffiti adorned glass of the window opposite, she saw the dull brown coat the darker brown hat, the blue and black checkered scarf. It looked robust, almost hunchbacked. there was a momentary hint of dark red in the couple of inches between the scarf and the fedora's brim. And what looked like strange mottled-green three-fingered mittens that were clenched into fists.
And then it stepped onto the car with an almost alien grace, almost floating on what must be mottled-green boots. And as the doors slid shut, it slipped to the rear of the car, as far away from April as it could get. Back in those deep fear mongering shadows again, little more than a dull, shadow-fogged, bulky human silhouette.
Part of her wanted to speak to the guy, to accuse him of following her, to demand what he wanted from her and hoped he would just say an autograph, and then he would go away and leave her alone. However, she was far too scared to approach the man. What if she encouraged him or antagonised him? What if he wasn’t following her and was just heading home too? Best to pretend he wasn't there and to just get home and forget about this whole night. Maybe she could work a story out of this experience?
The stranger remained in the shadows, not moving, seemingly ignoring her, his head bowed. And yet April could swear she could feel his eyes on her all the same. Not that that was unusual, men stared at her all the time. It made her uncomfortable them drooling over her, staring at her tits and her ass. And there were times she couldn't help but picture men thinking about her while masturbating, finding pictures of her on social media and jerking off to them or while they watched her in TV. It made her shiver with disgust and suddenly she felt as though she couldn't sit there any longer, sharing the car with a flasher-mac wearing pervert. April got up and slid into the next car.
Which was a mistake.
There were punks in the next carriage. Four of them. Three guys, rough-looking though muscular and a pretty girl. With their piercings, attitudes, extreme hair-cuts and in the girl’s case, heavy make-up it was impossible to determine their ages, though April guessed late teens or early twenties. They were leather- and denim-clad, adorned with chains and studs, dyed hair in a rainbow of different hues. Two had mohawks, one had a kind of bleached quiff and the girl had a glossy-black cropped cut, half pageboy half shaved off. She also had a tight heavy metal T-shirt on with razorblade slashes all over it, revealing a sizeable lusciously perky pair of breasts beneath, the nipples visible through the slashes yet concealed by X's of black tape. She had a flared miniskirt with fishnet pantyhose and big military boots. A thick chain, like a dog’s choke-chain encircled her slender waist, though it hung loosely around slender hips. Two of the three guys were lounging on a bench seat while, from the tell-tale funky sweet smell, smoking pot. While the third had his hands up under the back of the girl's skirt, sharing her bench seat. She was at least doing something creative, spray painting what appeared to be, from April's view, an intricate painting of a pair of females, an angel and a devil, scissoring.
They had a definite Eighties vibe to their collective style and April wondered if it was deliberate or mere coincidence. She hoped they would ignore her and just let her pass them by. It would make her feel a whole lot better if she had this admittedly intimidating, probably easily antagonizable foursome between her and the shadow-stranger.
Of course, she wasn't that lucky. She should have known with the shitty day she had been having so far.
She watched it unfold as if she were watching dramatic reconstruction or a movie. One of the two lounging smokers caught sight of her, did a little wide-eyed double take and then gently slapped his partner, nodding his head in April's direction. They both sat up straighter, staring at her as though she was some kind of seductive mirage. The third lad, with his hands up the back of the girl's skirt, apparently leisurely feeling up her ass, felt a change in the mood and turned to catch sight of April as well. Only the girl remained intent on what she was doing.
"Hey, bitch! This is our car!"
The first one to speak had a wild pink-red mohawk like the crest of some kind of exotic bird.
"I'm… I'm just going through to the next one." April said, trying to come across as casual and unconcerned by their presence and failing miserably.
"Not for free..." The second smoker said.
He was the one with the white quiff. He was looking her up and down intently, the lust in his eyes not exactly unfamiliar to April. She was glad she had zipped up her rain-mac and yet it still jutted out in front of her by her large bosom, then she noticed that the zipper had broken again the rows of interlocking teeth parting across her bosom. That damned jutting bosom, something she cursed as often as felt proud of.
"What?" She asked. "What do you mean 'not for free'?"
Of course, she knew. She just hoped she had misheard or misunderstood. Maybe the lad was a fan and just wanted an autograph, that would be great. Maybe they were just pulling her leg, a bad joke and would let her pass with laughter and dismissive hand gestures.
"You wanna be in our car you gotta a pay a toll." The ass groper said.
He was still groping away, April was not surprised, the girl looked like she would have a nice ass, probably in a skimpy G-string. But he was looking her way and there it was again. The lust. And April knew now that this was not going to go the way she wanted it to.
"I don't have any money." She said, uncertainly.
She didn't know what else to say. She felt like the meat in a barbwire sandwich now. Significant threats ahead of her and that scary shadow-stranger behind her. And there was April, caught in the middle with no escape that she could see.
"You got something else. Don't have to be money." The first lad said, with a malicious grin.
He had chrome braces over his teeth. Or metal caps or whatever they were called.
"Yeah, bitch. Get over here and let's have a look at you."
April didn't know what else to do. She, naively took a few more steps toward them and stood there holding onto one of the chromed support poles in the middle of the floor. All eyes were on her. Even the girl's now. And even hers were all interest. April would get no sympathy from her, sisterhood or no.
"C'mon guys. I'm not doing anything to you. Can't you just let me go?" She felt weak for begging, but if it worked...
It didn't work.
The first guy who had spotted her got up and walked up to her. He casually drew a Balisong knife from the right pocket of his studded oversize denim jacket. What was he, a walking cliché?
With an admittedly impressive flourish, he whipped the bisected handle-halves apart, a flick of his wrist had brought the gleaming five-inch blade to bear.
April fought back tears as, grinning, he waved the blade around in front of her eyes, the looks on the lad’s faces told her they knew she had given in and was going to cooperate.
"Don't get all upset, bitch. We're not giving you any choice." The white-quiff guy said with a malicious grin.
The knife-mohawk guy used a leading look with his eyes to tell April what he wanted to do next. And she obediently reached for the zipper of her rain-mac and tugged at it, forcing the ruined zipper to descend all the way down then she took the mac off while the lads gave strangely complimentary noises to her jutting yellow jumpsuit with its immense on-display cleavage.
"Holy fuck!"
"We hit the jackpot!"
"And I thought Meg's rack was full on!"
"Hey you two, this bitch's rack's like twice what you've got going on, Meg!"
“Fuck you.” The girl in the background said, though quietly.
"So, get 'em out bitch!"
"Yeah, what're you standin' around for?"
April's head lowered, not wanting to look at the two lads, as though not seeing them would make this situation less real. Where was everyone else? Where were the Subway Cops? Or some big gorgeous guy, to appear out of nowhere and kick their asses. Like Lee Van Cleef. No, too old. Like Michael Dudikoff, or Steve James or David Bradley.
"Hey, stop dawdling, bitch! Either you haul 'em out or me and my butterfly-knife will!"
"Alright, alright!" She wailed.
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April O'Neil - One Hell of a Rough Night.