The Bus Ride Part 1

Introduction:
It was a warm and sticky afternoon when I got onto the bus in the City Centre. What was unusual about today though was how busy the bus was, well unusual for me. You see I normally caught a later bus to get home but had left the office today about an hour and half earlier than normal, simply because it was a nice day and I didn’t see why I should stop at work longer than necessary given we had suffered a few days of really poor but typically British summer weather. What was it they say?
How can you tell when its summer in England?
The rain warms up!
Well it hadn’t rained and the sun was shining so I thought I’d treat myself to an early finish and get home before Coronation Street finished. So here I was at the back of a queue of people, all crowding to get on the bus.
I just stood back and let them get on. I had an hour and three quarter’s journey in front of me and knew that a seat would become available eventually. Still I had not expected the crush that faced me. Talk about sardines in a tin. And to top it all off it was peak rush hour so it would be a slow slog out of the city. Still I had my iPod and I was on my way home.
Maybe at this point I should tell you a little about myself? Here goes. I am 22(ish), slim, obviously female and single. I have been single for, umm let me see now, it must be 9 months. Possibly a little longer. I like my independence. I am not actively looking for a bloke to share my life with, I am not worried I am going to be left on the shelf and neither am I gay or bi. (Although the idea of other girls does not exactly repulse me like it does some of my friends). I live alone and enjoy my life.
In short Bridget Jones I am not.
I think I am quite attractive I certainly get attention from certain male quarters at work, but I tend not to mix business with pleasure. Also, I tend not to go out too much except with a few of the girls at work and then only occasionally. Maybe that’s why I am still single, but I don’t sweat it. And yes of course you want to know about my sex life. Otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this now would you? Well, if truth be told I don’t have one. Not since Paul and I split up. Not that the fireworks in the bedroom with Paul were that explosive to be honest. Perfunctory I suspect is a word that best describes the twice weekly shenanigans that occurred between us. So I never really missed it. Not as much as I think I miss it now though. So the story I have to tell comes as something of a surprise to me. It may not be much compared to what you may be used to, but it took me by surprise and opened my eyes to what exactly is possible given the right circumstance.
There I was squeezing myself past the great British public on a single decker bus that for this time of day ought really to have been a double decker. Still, it was my chariot home and I wasn’t complaining. Every seat was taken by the time I got on and there was not even ‘standing room only’. There was heavy duty bodily contact with complete strangers as I pressed my way to a small gap next to the single pull down seat upon which a tired looking middle aged bloke sat who, like me, was listening to something on earphones. I grabbed the hand loop hanging above my head and turned around to face the interior of the bus turning my back on the gentleman. The bus pulled away and almost as a single body my travelling companions and I swayed first one way then the other as the bus lurched along the busy street on its way out of the city centre. The first bit of the journey didn’t last too long as the bus was forced to stop in the line of traffic that was snarling up the city centre. I resigned myself to remaining in this position for some reasonable time. Deciding to concentrate on the music playing into my ears and resting my head on my raised arm I closed my eyes.
It must have only been seconds when I and my travelling companions were all once again jolted simultaneously and I felt, well I thought I felt a warm hand touch my leg.
Maybe I ought to explain a little more here, before I go any further. Just so you understand, is that ok? Yes? Good.
I realised I was standing very close to the middle aged man who was sitting on the fold down seat behind me. I didn’t realise it at the time but looking back on it now I must have almost shoved my arse in his face, well not exactly his face, but certainly in his direction. I am not sure how the configuration worked, I didn’t take that much notice but because of the height of his seat and the platform the seat was on and the foot-well that I was standing in, my arse was very close to his lap, or something like that anyway. I’m not completely clear on it as you will come to realise as you read on. Suffice to say, that to the events that transpired on the trip, the positioning of my arse was most advantageous although if I had been aware of it I would have been highly embarrassed at the time. I still blush a little now about it and have never caught that bus since in case I have to see that man again.
Anyway, I was wearing a fairly tight fitting skirt (it hugged my arse nicely, but not so tight that I displayed a VPL), and because I had been in a rush that morning I had found the only clean pair of stockings I had in my flat which were stay-ups rather than proper stockings or tights. I don’t normally wear these for work, I normally wear tights, but in my rush this morning wore the only thing I had available. My skirt had a split up the centre in the back and I suspect in certain positions exposed quite a lot of thigh. It wasn’t that I lacked confidence you understand. I have nice legs, I know that, I have been told lots of times, but if I had realised just how much thigh was on show, well I think there was a fair bit anyway, I might not have worn that skirt to work. Still I had worn it and in its way I think it contributed quite a lot to what happened next.
The bus settled down after the bumpy stop and I turned to look at the man sitting behind me who by now was looking up at me and I apologised for bumping him. He had a warm friendly smile and said,
“No problem, its ok” and I swear he winked.
I turned my head back and given the position I was in felt somewhat constrained. One hand was holding my handbag onto my shoulder and the other was holding me upright by gripping tightly the hand-loop over my head. When I look back on it now I was in bondage but untied. Quite ironic really. Well, I digress. The bus lurched to a stop again and again I felt what seemed like a warm hand touch my leg. Only this time it seemed to linger a little longer just under the hem of my skirt. I don’t know what it was, if it was the suddenness of it, the heat, the public place, but I felt a little thrill rush through my body and a shiver go down my spine. I also felt something that I had not felt in a very long time, since well, if I am honest, before Paul. I felt aroused. Really aroused. Not just my body responding to an external stimulus but that deep arousal that possesses your mind, eventually if left unchecked it will possesses your soul and then it’s too late, the only reaction your body has is wanton. I had felt it before, but only once and I felt the seeds of it germinating once again.
I found, as I quickly debated the invasion of my privacy that feelings long forgotten and believed lost coming back and involuntarily I moved my left leg, (I could not physically move my right one as it was jammed up against the foot-well), and as a result opened my thighs perceptibly a little. My “abuser” took this movement of my leg as a positive invitation as I felt his warm hand positively stroke my inner leg around my knee. His hand felt hot and coarse through the soft material of my stay-ups. I kept my eyes closed and revelled in the sensation, having forgotten what it felt like to feel the touch of a man anywhere on my body.
I am not an exhibitionist by any stretch of the imagination, but knowing that I was in an extremely public location while having my leg stroked was a huge turn on. Then the bus lurched to a stop once again and the invading hand slipped higher up and above the hem of my skirt.
I panicked, for a few seconds reason re-entered my mind and I wondered what other people on the bus would be thinking, me letting this man touch and caress my leg, so quickly I looked around as best I could and was shocked by the apathy and indifference that was the standard expression on my travelling companions’ faces. I looked down at my assailant and saw his deep blue eyes gaze up at me and he winked. That jolt of a shiver ran through me again and I looked down to see that the way I was standing and he was sitting, no one but the two of us knew what was happening.
This gave me fresh impetuous and again I moved my free leg slightly making the invitation to do more definite.
He did not need asking twice. As the bus drove along the road, sailing past stops of expectant passengers because it was so full already, the middle aged man with the blue eyes raised his hand higher up the inside of my thigh gently stroking causing me to tighten my grip on the handle for fear that the sensations running through me would cause me to faint.
I drew in a sharp breath when I felt his fingertips touch the soft flesh of my upper thigh. I did not realise that he would be able to move so high up without drawing attention to us, but the split in my skirt allowed for that. I trembled and wanted more so I pushed back onto his hand indicating that I wanted him to continue, not knowing where this could go or what it could lead to, I simply knew that I was going. Going in the sense that I was abandoning all reason to the touch of this stranger. I knew of course what would be next and the thought of this stranger touching me through my cotton panties made me squirm pressing my thighs together preventing his upwards movement further. Who was I trying to kid. I knew he had only centimetres left before he touched me where few people had touched me ever and I was torn between a desperate desire to feel another’s touch right there and the madness of the situation with ‘sensible me’ screaming “stop this right now!”
He seemed to sense my indecision as any pressure from his hand to progress further up my thigh ceased until I relaxed re-inviting his attentions. He did not hesitate I presume in case I had a change of mind and his hand through the simple extension of his fingers stroked that part of me that was covered by my white cotton panties. His fingers were in the genital gap where the lips to my pussy were and he was stroking that material that was the only barrier between our respective skins.
It was then I realised just how damp I had become. I moaned. I know I did. I moaned out loud and took a couple of odd looks from those closest to me who heard. I hope they thought I was just enjoying the music that I was listening to, but by that time I had given up caring. I was concentrating on the light touch that my strange man was doing under the hem of my skirt and along the length of the gap between the tops of my thighs. It felt wonderful. It felt fantastic. It felt delectable. I am not really able to describe how it felt; there simply are not enough adjectives in the English language to describe how I was feeling right then.
What came next shocked me even more than my sluttish behaviour was when my man actually touched my pussy lips. Somehow he had moved the material of my panties to one side and was now gently, but firmly stroking my pussy lips whilst at the same time probing to find the inner edge of them so he could part them. That was not hard. Once again I moved my leg so as to afford him more room and my now very moist lips parted at the slightest touch that he made. He stroked the moist flesh on the inner of my pussy lips and I felt wave after wave of pleasure ripple through my body and squeezed my eyes shut tight as I fought to fight the need to cry out in ecstasy. I think at that point I had several mini orgasms. I can’t really say as I have only ever climaxed through been fucked before. This was new, very new, to me and so intense. How I controlled my urge to press my pussy down onto his hand and have him fill me with his fingers there and then I will never really know, but I did. I had no choice really did I? This strange middle aged, blue eyed man was in full control and he knew it. I had invited him to invade me and he was doing just that. In public, in the open yet still only he and I knew what was happening.
Next came the ultimate sensation as for the first time in several months my pussy was occupied. I noticed he was very careful, first his fingertip pressed between my pussy lips then is sank into the wet fleshy hole until he was in up to his knuckle. Given the restraints of where we were he could not really get any deeper and so as he began to simply finger fuck my pussy by the twitching of his finger tip I settled back a little to enjoy his attentions.
It felt good. There was no massive cock, no hard fucking and banging away at my body, now sweaty pulsing sexual organs. Just a fingertip placed shallowly into my wet pussy hole and inside I was screaming out that I needed to cum and cum quick. Outwardly I just looked like I was enjoying the music but the rhythm of the bus as it drove along the road and the gentle motion of the finger buried in my pussy was like Heaven on Earth to me. This went on for a few seconds as the bus next came to a stop to let some passengers off, who were instantly replaced by new commuters so my position on the bus did not change, except that I had to press backwards onto my man’s hand to let someone past. This he took as an opportunity to slip two more fingers into me and this felt so good.
As the bus pulled away, so his fingers continued to fuck me. I was getting close now. I could feel wetness on the inside of my thigh one leg was damp the other, protected by the cotton panties pushed to that side of my crotch was dry. Still I now desperately needed to cum in the worst way and I flexed my pussy muscles in response to the attention that my now very wet hole was receiving from this man. Soon I was cumming. My head spun off the planet, I went dizzy, I tensed and squeezed real hard as my vagina walls pulsed, my inner thighs seemed to ripple, my back seemed to arch and I noticed that my nipples had stood to attention under my bra and were protruding quite visibly under the blouse I wore. My arse cheeks clenched. In all this I could do nothing but make guttural sounds that must have made people think I was going to have a fit or something. Still, as my climax came I felt cum squirt out of my body and I must have soaked his hand. I know my leg was wet!
He continued to finger fuck me slowly after my muscles relaxed and did so until it was time for me to move towards the rear of the bus. As the journey continued, so more people got off than got on and the hidden space where my middle aged man had so expertly brought me off in public disappeared. Besides, I was weakened and worried I might collapse after so intense an experience. I was also highly embarrassed and had to move away to sit down. I just preyed that my skirt was not wet or that I had not left a wet patch on the floor behind me. I am fairly certain I hadn’t but hurried to the rear of the bus when I saw a free seat just in case and sat down not daring to move in case I should expose what I had allowed to happen to me to anyone else. I was exhausted, embarrassed, ashamed, yet thrilled all at the same time. What impact this would have on me I did not dare to imagine, I just turned up my music, rested my head back and re-lived in my mind the previous 10 minutes.
When I looked up again my man had got off the bus. I must have dozed a little. Still I squeezed my thighs together and as if I needed confirmation, I felt the dampness still there.
Other works are available
Part 2 of this story: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/61943
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/iErotica

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