Chapter 4 How to Cum on a Bus

The key to coming on a bus is picking the right mark. Find a guy who's been out all night-disheveled, eyes heavy, shirt wrinkled from too many drinks and bad decisions. He's perfect because no one bats an eye when he collapses into the back seat, the one right over the engine, where the vibrations hum through you like a pulse. You slide in beside him, your skirt riding up just enough to tease, your thighs brushing his as he slumps, head tipping toward your lap. You flash a bored look out the window, like the city lights are more interesting than the heat pooling between your legs.

(1) You should wearing lace panties-thin, barely there-because they'll slide against your skin, causing a delightful friction between your cunt lips. Plus, if the bus lurches into a crash, you're not caught bare. (2)You lift your hips, subtle, tugging your skirt higher, and spread your thighs just enough to invite him in. He gets the hint, his breath hot against your skin as he ducks under the hem of your skirt, hiding himself in the shadows. His tongue finds you first, circling your clit with slow, deliberate strokes, and you bite your lip to keep from gasping. The bus hits a pothole, and his teeth graze you, sharp enough to make your vision blur, but you don't flinch. You're too good for that.

You stare at the smudged bus window, pretending to read the ads plastered across it-some bullshit about car insurance-as his hand slips under you, tugging your panties aside.

(3)Do not pant or salivate excessively when he slips a hand under your thighs and pulls your sticky panties out of your twat in order to fuck you with two fingers

The engine's rumble is your accomplice, each vibration syncing with his rhythm, pushing you closer to the edge. You lift your ass an inch, giving him room to work, spreading your legs a little wider-not too much, or you'll look like you were raised wrong.

(4)Whenever the bus turns a corner, squeeze his fin­gers as tightly as you can with the walls of your cunt and rock back and forth on the heel of his hand. He should know the signal, his tongue moving faster, hungrier, lapping at you like he's starving. When a low growl rumbles from his throat, and you pat his head, your voice a breathy whisper: "Dont worry daddy, we're almost at the hospital."" nice cover. No one turns to look. They're all lost in their phones, their own private worlds, oblivious to the way your body's trembling, your nails digging into the cracked vinyl seat.

Your free hand finds the bell cord, and you tug it hard as the heat inside you coils tighter, ready to snap. His lips close around you, sucking just right, and you lift your hips one last time, giving him full access as the bus shudders to a stop. The orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, and you let out a sharp, "Stop! Stop!"-half command, half plea. Your juices flood his mouth, and he drinks you down, his fingers still moving, drawing out every pulse until you're spent, your body sinking back against the seat.

A few heads turn, eyes curious but unfocused. The driver mutters something under his breath, probably cursing you for yanking the cord like that. You don't care. You smooth your skirt down, nudging your companion's head out from under it. He sits up, lips glistening, eyes dazed, like he's the one who just got wrecked. You flash him a smirk, all naughty and horny, and stand, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. The other passengers shuffle, oblivious, as you step off the bus into the cool night air, your legs still trembling, your cunt still dripping.