The Bus Grope

By Misty Chikan © 2016

Warm, trembling fingers touched the side of my breast and I’m woken from the lull of sleep. The bus is still in darkness and the light purr of the engine threatens to sing me back to sleep. If only it hadn’t been for the strange hand trying to touch me where it had no right. There’s so much dishonor in the act, my groin throbs. Closing my eyes again, I pretend to have noticed nothing. Pulling my light shawl over my shoulders in an act of sleepiness, yet only to give easier access to the strangers caress. I tried to calm my beating heart, and begin to breathe as deeply as I can, to put the stranger at ease.

Time passes as the stranger draws his courage, and waits for the best opportunity. He shifts his buttocks, then a tentative finger is extended in my direction. I feel the tip of the finger press gently into my soft, fleshy breast. It sends an electric charge straight to my pussy. I muffle a gasp. Slowly but surely the fingers slide over my breast until the tips touch my nipple lightly. There’s no movement for the next few minutes, and I wait impatiently.

Just as my breast grows accustomed to the warmth of the hand, he moves again until his palm cups the swell of my breast and two fingers hold my nipple prisoner. I hear an intake of breath from my neighbor. My heart skips and trots at the touch. Slowly the tip of his middle finger moves on my erect nipple. I feel so turned on. This carries on until my nipple turns raw and just as I am about to push his hand away, out of sheer boredom, he moves into action.

I feel my nipple being pinched and pulled, and his breathing becomes heavy.

I hadn’t moved a centimeter since he had started molesting me, and that gave him confidence. His hand moves ahead. He crosses the valley of my breasts to the other. He squeezes harder than before. Did he know I’m awake and partaking in the pleasure? I hope not. My pussy throbs with excitement, I can only guess at the condition of his cock.

His hand begins to move freely between both my breasts, squeezing hard and kneading my over ripe jewels. I hoped he had plans to suckle my hard nipples. The hands stopped for a moment, and my heart beat in anticipation. He begins to feel my blouse, then his fingers hone in on the buttons. He circled a button with a fingertip and precariously unbuttons it. Then another, and another, until the front comes loose. He pushes my blouse away from my breasts and begins to feel my lace bra. He likes the feel of it, because for a long while he touches both my breasts on top of my bra. I grow restless again. Touch bare skin, my heart cries.

I pretend to move in my sleep and turned a little to press my back into him. He has easy access to the hooks. It is now or never.

In no time he had unhooked my bra, a smile played around my lips. A warm trembling hand comes to rest on one breast and I gasp audibly. Then curse myself and waited in agony at the consequence. The hand stays where it is, and try as I may, I couldn’t breathe evenly. To make things worse, I begin to tremble. The hand moves to where my heart is, and stays there feeling me. Both hands came to cup my breasts, mauling and kneading roughly the soft silken flesh. He knows I’m awake. He begins to breathe hoarsely, then suddenly stops, slipping from his seat, pressing against one of my legs, then sits on his knees crouching before me under the fall of my shawl, completely out of sight.

He hugs me around my waste trying to feel my bare skin against him, his face between my breasts. He rubs his cheeks between them breathing deeply and contentedly then grabs hold of one breast and begins to suckle on my nipple as if a starving man. Milk begins to flow freely again. My two year old has only recently been weaned. I gasp too, my pussy floods immediately. I try to picture him in the dark.

He’s probably in his twenties. A college student perhaps, muscular and ruggedly handsome. His stubble scrapes my soft skin. My fingers curl into the back of his head, pulling him closer to suckle me harder. He didn’t disappoint me, juggling between both my breasts. He stops. There’s no milk to have. He kisses my belly button and I push his head out from my shawl and kiss him on the lips. His hand roughly pulls my lips back and we are locked in a passionate kiss. He sucks my inviting mouth for a whole ten minutes. He holds my face between his hands, and we gaze into each other’s eyes in the dark.

“Thank-you,” he whispers.

His hand slips between my thighs and I begin to tremble again. He parted my sodden panties and a cool finger dip into the molten lava of my volcano. I gasp, my head pushes back into the seat and I stay there for the next few minutes. His finger dove back and forth into my open vagina, circling, rubbing, and shoving until I’m writhing. With a gasp I cum in his hand. He lifts his fingers and smells my juices, then, as if driven crazy, dives between my legs. He laps hungrily, biting and sucking on my full, swollen lips until I cum again with a shudder, half spent.

The lights suddenly flick on, he quickly covers my nakedness with the shawl, collects his things and got off at his stop without even a backward glance. I never saw him again, but every time I take a ride home, alone, on the bus, I remember him and I bet he remembers me too.

The End.


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