Overnight Transfer :


A patch back I had to go between two distant urban center and I figured that getting an overnight bus ; I would go far in the good morning and wouldn't have to get a room for the night. exit was around 21:30, a petty before sunset, and by the meter I arrive at the station the stippled swarm were turning a vibrant red and purple against the backdrop of an orange sky. I 'm one of the firstly to display panel the double-decker so take a keister fairly close to the back while others from the queue filter on after me. It 's not too busy, probably a little over half full, and near of those that are alone have managed to snag a double seat to themselves, including me. Once everyone is on the doors close and the locomotive tremor to life, it revs up and we roll out of the bus station. A warm freshness rising tide through the Windows when we escape the metropolis as the sun hits the horizon.

Not long into the journeying we make a plosive at another town. Some passenger get off here but many more get on. Among the newcomers is a category of 4 and by this time the bus is already quite full with all the image seats already taken. The minor, a young brother and sister, are forced to sit on their own succeeding to alien. I notice this and offer my ass so that they can sit together - I thought, I 'm on my own anyway so it makes no difference if I'm sat with someone I don't know. They seem very please by my pass and I stand up to present them my derriere. former than a small-scale mussitation, the bus is mostly tranquillity during this exchange so everyone close by is able to hear what's going on and it 's clearly caught a few people 's attention. As I leave the seat I catch the eye of a cute girl across the gangway a couple of hind end behind, on the second to last row from the back. She smiles at me and motions to sit following to her. It 's quite sweet. I thank her and settle down in the aisle seat with her to my rightfulness, shoving my bag in the small footwell between my legs.

We start to chat and she tells me that she 's just finished living with a folk as an au pair for a partner off month and she 's doing a little travelling before she returns home to Germany. The way she tells me about working as an au duad, looking after kids, it strikes me that this is probably what caught her attention about my motion for the nipper and why she indicated for me to sit next to her. Although she does n't explicitly say this, it comes across clear nonetheless.

The bus waits at this stop for about 10 mins in total while they load everyone and their luggage on, then the big diesel engine revives filling the cab with that pleasant rapport and we push back into the countryside. It's another 10 mo or so before the confab between me and this girl naturally flutters out and we both turn to Holy Writ and euphony. With my earphones playing I open the book on my lap. My eyes scroll down the page but my attending starts to drift from the dry textbook I'm recitation and I find myself staring at the page, instead reflecting on my experience right now.

My bag, which is not particularly low, is wedged between my human knee. She also has a bag which is larger than mine at her feet. This arrangement defines a specify edge that each of our peg can lodge in and for both of us that space overlaps slightly. Occasionally our legs momentarily make contact before separating like zippo happened. The jitney is gently swaying as we meander down roads and this inertia encourages an almost rhythmic movement in our torso. My cognisance is pulled to the flimsy tensing in my legs every fourth dimension I rock back and forth ; I had been unconsciously resistant to encroaching on her space. It seems that both of us have been slightly holding our legs closed against our suitcase but intermittently the momentum of the vehicle forces us together. Neither of us is at geological fault ; it's just an artifact of the charabanc's motility causing these innocent brushes. I catch myself enjoying it.

twilight transitions to dusk and the driver switches the cabin luminosity off. Some of the personal lamps activate from their late scene in odd rows, ours is plunged into iniquity. I'm relieved to see her turn her light on and continue to learn. I do the Sami but without even trying to read now I'm just turning varlet periodically. My perception wanders again towards her. My legs are tensing softly to counter the movement towards her but I can't do that all night, nor do I want to. But neither do I want to ca-ca it obvious that I have deliberately allowed my stage to touch her. I gradually lighten my resistance, relaxing into a wider stance.

Our connections are becoming more shop at. Our separation shortens just a little each time. It seems that she's also relaxing into it, though there's always a arcdegree of uncertainty. I can see delicate movements through her mordant tights and I'm convinced she's spending less and less sentence engaging her muscles. Though again there's vapours of doubt. Tickles turn to separatrix and I feel the warmth and soma of her muscle against my sura. I will for the rocking of the bus to provide an opportunity for my front and it is does.

Gradually the length of our contact increases from mere moments to brief encounters, extending each repeating. I anticipate every hertz, which builds in tenseness as I wish for a push from the bus, until the release of each sway translating into a touch between our legs. The line of gab of this saltation persists like waves, each growing the intensity of the last. hullabaloo is washing through me by the time I realise the touches cobbler's last longer than not and it's very soon after that we're in invariant contact.

I have become hyperaware of her and am tuned into an exceptional academic degree of predisposition. I think I feel tiny flutters in her muscle, almost imperceptible. I'm determined to remove doubt. Using the plunge and bump of the route, I carefully careen the ball of my animal foot and reheel incrementally closer. millimeter by mm our pressure increases until I stop before it becomes blatant. I wait.

Most of the other Reading lighting have been turned off now except for a few closer to the front. I sneak a bloom and people around us have fallen asleep. Glimpsing my watch, it's one-half midnight. I close my book, turn off my luminousness and get my phone out. My lap is still illuminated slightly by her light but it's much darker now. She's still reading. I feign reading something on my phone, tension rising as I wish for another signal to pinch from her leg. I'm certain I register a few sham positives - too svelte to be sure, snip of relief that get drowned in doubt.

The lull of the vehicle smudges any promissory note with randomness. prevision surges through me like an expectant cat. tension yearns for touch and I'm forced into an involuntary move : I tense slowly and softly against her, to release the build-up. A few mo later I feel a quiet solvent. It bathes me with a micro-euphoria giving me goose gibbousness. It takes a meaning sweat to recoup and I compose myself internally before releasing a low muscle muscle spasm. Another postponement followed by the susurration of a answer. It's not quite fact but a convincing level of certainty.

My tending is pulled towards my boxers as they become tighter due to the swelling swelling under them. My middle trace down and I see no movement yet but I can feel growth, a gradual thickening. Leaning back, I relax, the crotch of my drawers squeezing against me as I sink into my bum. The framework of my shorts begins to rise from my thigh, protruding as an indistinct shape. A change in the insistence between our muscles causes a refreshed lavation of excitation to disconcert through me, gathering as a beat in my jibe. The schema of my hump lengthens against the slopped fabric. It's slow, as to cause no obvious effort. It continues to uprise steadily more unbending, one pulse at a metre. The build widens, becoming clearer as it casts a apparition from her directional reading light. The detrition of the material tugs at my prepuce and as I grow into the taut place I become unsheathed. I feel a slight Rush as I see the defined schema of my shaft extend into a head. My engorged form is pressed in a impenetrable note down the inside of my leg.

She makes a marginal adjustment to her position. Has she seen me ? I couldn't be sure. several more successions of our whispered body language pass. Each pause building latent hostility, followed by each twitch or press spreading thrill through me. I swell, so hard that I can see the blink of an eye in my shorts.

By this point I've put my earpiece away and have a relaxed stance, hands palm down on my face. My Bluetooth earphone have maintained the connective to my music but it's quiet. I could look as if I'm snoozing, eyes half closed. She stirs and places the Scripture in her bag, then switches the lamp. Except for a rhythmic glow through the window, as we pass streetlights on the road, we are immersed in wickedness. It takes my sight a while to adjust and I can only feel when she settles back down next to me.

My sense of touch is heightened even more without Light. Our calfskin are pressed together firmly but it's well-to-do. Our thighs are close but separated with a gap that's enforced by the small dip in our backside. I want to touch more of her but there's a fringy uncertainty so I proceed carefully. Even with its unsureness, the mum conversation between our muscles continues in a communicating that verges on imperceptible. I set out to develop this. Slowly I allow the bobbing of the road to start sliding my hired hand off the slope of my lap, towards the space between us. The vertex and trough of the cadence inching me towards that goal. The procedure is agonisingly incremental but I commit to this"chance event ”.

Seductively I am coaxed closer and closer until my manus finally falls off my lap entirely in my feigned slumber. I groan internally when I realise the gap is bigger than I anticipated. Proceeding with this extended journey, I repeat the method played out by the rhythms of the road. I'm certainly she must be asleep by now, it's definitely recently, but I'm driven by a beastly desire now and don't tutelage. I feel the hairs on my carpus fold having closed the gap to almost nothing.

My kernel pounds furiously in my chest and I feel my tool flex involuntarily through the tension. I look down and deform purposefully this time. I can see the silhouette breed under its canvas, demanding attention. I refuse it for now, clenching my jaw from intense desire. I twitch my finger drowsily against her tights and palpate a slowly increasing pressure against it. She must be leaning in to me ! Though all the swaying means there's a lot of noise shrouding this conversation and its fraught with error border : There's never quite foregone conclusion, only replica is on my incline. I continue closer until the whole back of my handwriting is against her : it's at the point of transition from her thigh to her bum. The comfortable lulling of the bus moves our body and I feel myself gently rubbing against the nylon clasping her legs.

It's been at to the lowest degree a quarter hour since she turned off the lighting now, possibly more. Using only my left-hand hand and concealed by the dark, I discreetly remove my earphones. I am sprinkled in a low ecumenical hum generated by strait of the route and the engine intertwined. Over this I can still get out the presence of others. Hearing her breath sleepily side by side to me I become cognisant of the rise and fall of her breast in my periphery and I can feel it resonate throughout her body. I read the discern potential of content from her body through our maintained connection for a while. My flexes and gentle pressures at our points of contact increase on a slope, becoming self-indulgent.

Suddenly I am surprise by her movement. I recoil swiftly but minutely, afraid to be ‘ caught'touching her with my hand. The inter-group communication between our legs has ceased. She shifts in her chair for a moment and then sink, settling back down. I work to becalm my ventilation from the surprise and measure the new situation. It was a convert spatter of yawning adjustment ... or maybe she's only just now become aware of the game I've been playing and doesn't like it ! I consider this a moment : It is possible but I find it heavily to believe considering the development.

I try to focus. I can just about discern her visibility, lit by a sweetheart glow of moonlight now that our journey has escaped street lamp. A pillow is scrunched up against the window. A I ear pokes sweetly from her fuzz, facing away from me as if it is coy. The other is pressed firmly into the soft raft of her pillow and she is turned toward the night. Her big bag in the footwell has been squashed slightly at the top because it now supports her substructure and she is resting her genu on the fundament in a loose fetal position.

Craving an ever-deeper familiarity I don't want to stop. I'm questioning myself, doubting whether to continue. It doesn't seem capture. A lesson battle is brewing as I slowly become mindful of a passion mounting on my hand. I'm mildly startled when I feel her heat through tights. She has slowly advanced towards me until I can palpate the back of her thigh ! Having been turned against me this must be her decent leg, not far below her butt. I'm not sure enough if she can feel me through the nylon yet and I slide my handwriting away, matching the progress of her cash advance as she continues approaching towards me. I'm trying to continue the insistency light and hoping it stays private to me. Her sustained push convinces me that such a"skid"is deliberate and I stop my apparent movement allowing the pressing of her muscle to build against me. It stops abruptly when it becomes unfaltering enough for her to remark through the thin yarn.

Arousal courses through me with an energy surprisingly close to choler. It's like an aggression urging me to react : grasp out, clench, take. Confident with our existing path I subdue the invading violence, savouring the tease. Using the slightest of tactile sensation I start to raise my finger up her leg one by one barely tickling the fabric. I cushion the system of weights of my mitt as it leaves the rear and I try to maintain a legerity. By the clip the hold out finger, my thumb, follows the crowd ; my little-finger and ring-finger have extended into the space between her legs, about midway between the rachis of her knee and her crotch. I keep my decoration elevated, dancing my fingertips up her leg.

More blatant motions start to attest due to my arm and wrist joint reaching fatigue from the extended effort of countering their weight. I am forced to allow a impenetrable touch modality, to rest the multitude of my whole hand on her now but I make no sudden move in an attempt to duck her perception with sheer gentle patience. I persist, shifting ever further up her leg. It takes a singular campaign to stand firm clutching hard, the precipitance would arouse her. She's likely faking sleep but I don't want her to stop this. Nevertheless, I indulge myself with a power play. It builds delicately, stopping curtly of knockout. I can sense the destination ; the closer I get the warmer she feels.

The temperature in my hand climbs impossibly gamey. I keep thinking"this must be it"but it keeps escalating. And then I feel it ; the puddle secreted in her panty. Absorbed across her labia the fabrics have become saturated to the point where my fingertips are submerged in dewy drops, simultaneously defining her shape with clarity but also lubricating all motility across her. I tease at her twat but these rim are shy to part, forbidden by the strict material of her underwear. I can almost feel her quiver.

There is no uncertainty now that we have been playing the same game. Her slumber is one of awareness but she plays the parting well. I make a due exertion to keep my crusade subtle but my sense of secrecy has lessened. I reach up her skirt and tug at the waist of her tights to slip them down revealing her bare cheeks. I can finger her kitty-cat ruck against soppy knee breeches and I tease the warm silk over her clitoris. My digit slide easily over the fabric as I run the length of her slit back and forth while her finger part easily as if to welcome my touch.

A few consequence later I shift the thin out lacing of her knickerbockers to one side of meat and retain them out of the way with my mitt. Her suave skin is knavish with silk and even tender than before and my fingers rub easily over the soft skin of her labia and clit. I tease her, intentionally pressing too lightly for her ended gratification but unvoiced enough to raise her tension. Her back starts to arch slightly attempting to tug harder against me but I am careful to allow just enough press to gather a moreish craving before I let my pressure fall away with the cause to proceed my minx. When I finally rub harder over her clit she instinctively pushes back against me, her unanimous consistence tensing up. I twiddle over her midget swollen push button, my finger's breadth smothered and sloppy. I become cognisant of the subtle phone from our wet skin sloshing and I become mindful to restrain it subtle.

I can feel the tenseness building in her trunk but, partly intentionally, partly careful not to rouse anyone around us, I continue with the Sami pace. Her breath quickens pausing only briefly after each intake. Her leg brawniness contract bridge hard and she squeezes her thighs, pushing out even more liquid over my digit. I sense the energy shape in her as she anticipates each wave by holding her breath, every pause perpetuation.

Tautness spreads throughout her body as I strum rhymical between pressure level, allowing the pleasure to peek briefly before relaxation. She must almost unstrain before I increase the intensity again ; tempting her desire to grow. Each time I persuade a little more to bloom and blarney her to climb a little closer to the brim. Each clock time her body takes a little longer to relax when I soften my rub and a little shorter to tighten ; when I squeeze her clitoris firmly through my fingers again. I'm playing her genius purposefully, orchestrating the build-ups and directing the releases. Drawing out the waving of delight.

The tempo rises steadily with her expanding fervour, my fingers sloshing easily over the distance of her glans. With my free hand I tempt three fingers against her opening and feel her flesh quivering desperately. Her external respiration has become syncopated, with child and interrupted. Her body jounce sporadically between breathing time. I bear down firmly against her clitoris but circling slowly. Refusing to quicken my fingers now ; my pep pill is measured to her response and I balance her on the precipice. Then, I plunge my fingerbreadth steadily into her inching all three fingers down to one knuckle, stretching her goof. My cadency against her clitoris quickens as I continue to steadily weightlift, filling her sloppy pussy with my soaking digit. She gasps frantically as if jumping into an fall lake. Her hollow widening longingly over my fingers down to the second knuckle savouring every added millimetre before, suddenly ; she plunges all the way down, instinctively rocking against my fingerbreadth. The joy overflows causing her thighs to throw off for a few import before her trunk begins to buck violently as the waves crash through her. She expels a repress, quivering moan that erupts charged but slopes off into atonement. Her torso unbraces, slackening contentedly and she relaxes back into the pillow she's been clutching while she just pauses for a few bit, silent. After a here and now she slides shakily off of my finger and regains her composure, adjusting her clothes back into their place. Shifting in the hot seat she leaves me and kink back up in her buns, ending our tactile conversation, seemingly to roll off to sleep. Again perhaps.

The pressing swelling in my shorts demands tending but I disregard it, withdrawing into my mind to mull over over what just fucking happened. Feelings pull me in different direction : an almost pride at having given her pleasure ; business organization for having molested her ; fear at the intellection of forcing myself on her, especially if my trigger-happy erection takes over now ; a dark, seedy satisfaction for having done all this with a unknown, in populace. The thoughts swirl around my head as I ignore the pestering calls from my throbbing shaft. Slowly cognizance slips away from me.

I suddenly become aware of people exiting the bus and I instinctively jump to my feet with a determinacy not to miss my stop. Realisation cesspool in that mine is the last stop anyway but by this time she has already squeezed past me anyway and started to walk away with her back to me. I grab my bag quickly and follow her down the gangway. My tender, full balls jiggling as I walk, forcing me to take it steadily. Just before the threshold she turns to look at me over her berm, flicking her hair with the effort. Her big eye look up at me and she smiles mischievously before turning back and stepping down off the bus.

Keywords :

Inching, sopor, quiescence, Somnophilia, Public, Grope, Bus, Stranger, Molest, harassment, Noncon, Nonconsent, Non Con, Non-Con, Non-Consent .
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