The Confession That Began on the Night Bus

I took that night bus because I didn’t want to pay for a hotel or lose the following morning. I was alone, wearing a short dress and sandals, with a small backpack between my legs. It was hot—that sticky end-of-summer heat that leaves your skin shining and your body more sensitive than usual.

When the driver announced our departure, a man stopped beside my seat and pointed to the empty space. He was bald, broad-shouldered, with two days’ worth of beard and a dark T-shirt that showed off his arms. I made room without thinking too much; the bus was full, and there wasn’t much else to choose from.

He sat down with a backpack on his thighs and gave me a brief, polite smile, as if he didn’t want to bother me. I kept looking at my phone, going through photos and messages to kill time. One of the pictures showed me at the beach in a tiny black bikini that barely covered me, and out of the corner of my eye I saw that he noticed, even though he pretended not to.

It didn’t bother me. The truth was, I liked it more than I wanted to admit.

He had the kind of presence you could feel without being touched: the warmth of his arm, the clean scent of his cologne, the closeness of a large body occupying the seat beside me. When they turned off the interior lights and only the blue aisle lights and the glow of a few screens remained, the journey changed its tone. Everything became more intimate, dirtier, more conducive to imagining things.

He opened his laptop on top of the backpack and began typing. I tried to concentrate on my social media, but I could feel his attention shifting between the screen and my legs. My dress was short enough already, and with the way I was sitting it kept riding up to mid-thigh. I crossed one leg over the other, not to cover myself but to become even more aware of the way he was looking at me.

If he was getting hard, that was his problem, I thought. But the reality was different: I was getting turned on by that silent game too.

When the bus braked, my phone tilted and a more daring photo came into view. I saw in the window’s reflection that he had managed to see it. He said nothing, though his jaw tightened. It was a small detail, but it left me with that tingling beneath my navel that appears when you know someone is imagining you naked.

Some time passed. I took out something to eat, settled the backpack on my knees, and sank back into the seat. The laptop’s light was bothering me, so I eventually turned toward him.

—Excuse me, could you close it for a while? I want to try to sleep.

—Of course—he answered immediately. —I should get some rest too.

He closed it and then introduced himself. His name was Mauro. I told him my name was Lara and, when I leaned in to greet him, the second kiss landed too close to his mouth. Our lips brushed for barely an instant, but it was enough to make him go still. Then he gave a low laugh.

—If there were more light, you’d see that I’ve gone red.

I smiled, uncomfortable and turned on at the same time. I leaned against the window and tried to sleep, though I could still feel his closeness in an almost physical way. Soon afterward, he told me that the seatback reclined. I felt around for the lever without finding it, and then he offered to help.

He reached across my stomach with his arm. His forearm pressed softly against my waist, and the contact ran through my entire body. It wasn’t anything scandalous, but in that moment I realized how easy it would be to let those hands do something more. He managed to lower the seatback, and I thanked him in a voice lower than I had intended.

I raised the footrest and settled in. He did the same. The engine hummed monotonously, people slept, and I drifted into that half-sleep where the body stays alert even when you close your eyes.

I don’t know how much time passed before I felt warmth on my thigh.

At first I thought it was the brush of his backpack or some involuntary movement. But no. It was his fingers. His hand rested on my leg, motionless at first, then testing, as if waiting for a reaction. I didn’t move. My breathing quickened, but I stayed still, pretending to sleep.

Then his hand began to move slowly up the inside of my thigh.

I felt every inch. The pads of his fingers moving carefully, the light pressure of his palm, the heat of his skin filtering through mine. Instead of pulling away, I opened my legs slightly. It was a tiny gesture, enough to make it clear that he could continue.

His backpack was positioned so that it hid everything from the aisle. That made the thrill hit me even harder. A stranger was touching me on a bus full of sleeping people, and I was letting him put his hand under my dress.

His breathing changed when he realized I wasn’t going to stop him. He pushed the fabric of my skirt aside a little and reached my panties. I was already wet, hot, my crotch throbbing with need. The waiting had made me worse than any caress could have.

—Don’t stop—I whispered, barely moving my lips.

I don’t even know whether he heard me or understood from the way I lifted my hips to give him room. He slipped his fingers beneath the edge of the fabric and moved my panties aside just enough to touch me directly. When the pad of his finger brushed my pussy, I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning.

He didn’t plunge in all at once. First he slowly traced my lips, opening them, getting wet with what I was already releasing for him. He stroked my clitoris in slow circles, then more firmly, and I felt my thighs tense. I spread them again, pressing one leg against his.

His hand knew exactly what it was doing. It wasn’t clumsy groping or some adolescent urgency. He rubbed my pussy calmly, insisting where he made me tremble most, and every time I shifted, he adjusted the rhythm to make me lose even more control.

He inserted one finger. It slid in easily, slipping through how wet I was. Then a second. He fucked me with them very slowly at first, pulling them almost all the way out before sinking them in again. My mouth was half open, my neck tense against the window, my heart beating in my throat.

—Fuck...—escaped me in a thread of voice.

He let out a hoarse, aroused huff and kept pushing his fingers deep inside me. With his palm he crushed my clitoris with every movement, and that was how he dismantled me. I began moving my hips against his hand, needing more pressure, more speed, more of everything. I wasn’t pretending to sleep anymore; I was surrendering to the thrill of feeling used between the seats while the rest of the bus remained silent.

I came like that, squeezing his fingers with my pussy, swallowing a moan against my shoulder. The orgasm rose through my belly in short, violent waves. He didn’t withdraw his hand. On the contrary, he kept rubbing me through the trembling, wringing out another spasm, and another, until I ended up breathing in ragged gasps.

Then he pulled his hand away. I turned my head slightly and saw him bring his fingers to his mouth. He sucked them slowly without taking his eyes off me. That gesture, more than anything else, finished driving me crazy.

I wasn’t going to pretend to be a good girl anymore.

I lowered my hand toward his crotch, avoiding the backpack, and found the hard bulge beneath his trousers. It was big even like that, pressed against the fabric, hot and alive. I closed my fingers around it and felt him shudder.

—Shit—he murmured softly.

I stroked him over the fabric, slowly at first, feeling his thickness and hardness. My hand couldn’t wrap all the way around him. He put his hand between my legs again at the same time, as if he needed to return every caress. He squeezed my clitoris while I rubbed his cock through his clothes, and we stayed like that, masturbating each other with movements that grew less and less discreet.

I unbuttoned his trousers by touch. He lifted his hips slightly to help me. I slipped my hand inside and pulled him out just enough to grasp him directly. He was smooth and hard, the tip wet. When I slid my thumb over the head, his breath caught.

It was a serious cock. Thick, long, far too much for the situation, which only turned me on more.

I jerked him off with one hand while gripping the edge of the seat with the other. He put two fingers inside me, then three, opening me from within, soaking me further, leaving me on the edge again. I felt the pulse of his cock in my palm and no longer wanted to stop there. I didn’t want just fingers. I didn’t want us merely touching each other in secret.

I wanted him to fuck me.

I turned my head toward him until my lips were close to his ear.

—Turn on your side—I whispered. —And cover us.

He understood immediately. He lowered the backpack to the floor, took a blanket from the overhead shelf, and spread it over us. Then he settled behind me, pressed against my back, in a cramped, uncomfortable position that was brutally exciting at the same time. I felt his chest against my shoulders, one hand around my waist and the other pulling my dress higher.

His naked cock rubbed between my thighs, and I nearly came again from that alone. He grabbed one of my tits over my dress, squeezing it hungrily, and pinched my nipple between his fingers. Meanwhile, he searched for the entrance to my pussy with his hips.

—You’re soaking wet—he said in my ear.

—Put it in already.

He didn’t repeat himself. He pulled my panties all the way aside, opened me with two fingers, and pushed the head in. It entered slowly at first, overcoming the slight resistance of my body, and then he kept sinking in until I felt his entire cock inside me. He filled me so completely that I had to clench my teeth to keep from screaming.

It was exactly what I needed: thick, intensely hot, truly hard. The feeling of having it buried all the way inside me in that narrow seat left me trembling. He stayed still for a second, breathing against my neck, letting me feel every inch inside me.

Then he began fucking me with short, careful thrusts because of the limited space. But even restrained, they shook me from head to toe. Every time he pulled it out a little and pushed it back in, I felt the thick rub of his cock opening me, sliding through my wetness, pounding inside me in a way that clouded my mind.

I pushed my ass backward to take him better. He held one tit with one hand and rubbed my clitoris between my legs with the other. He was fucking and masturbating me at the same time, covered by a blanket, with the bus engine vibrating beneath us and sleeping people just inches away. The thrill was so intense it took me out of myself.

—Like that... like that, fuck...—I murmured.

—You like me fucking you here, huh?

—Yes.

—Like a hot little slut in public.

A lash of arousal shot through my crotch. I nodded without shame. There was no point pretending anymore. I loved it. I loved the way he had me, the way he used me in secret, the way his breathing grew harsher every time I tightened my pussy around his cock.

He gradually picked up the pace. The bus’s movements helped, shifting us slightly and making each thrust enter at a different angle. Sometimes he brushed that exact spot inside me and my legs buckled. Other times he drove his cock so deep that all I could do was close my eyes and endure the shiver.

I reached one hand backward, searching for his ass, his hip, any part of him that would make me feel him more completely. I could feel the effort it took for him not to make a sound. His breathing had become a series of broken gasps against the nape of my neck.

—I’m not going to last much longer—he told me.

That turned me on even more. I began moving against him more hungrily, squeezing him inside every time he sank in. I wanted to make him come. I wanted to feel him spill. I wanted that stranger to leave his cum inside my body while we kept pretending to be two more passengers.

—Come—I told him. —Come inside me.

He growled against my shoulder and sped up. His thrusts stopped being careful and became hungry, short, intense, driving his cock into me again and again while he held my hip tightly so I couldn’t pull away. His other hand was still on my tit, squeezing it without tenderness.

I came first. The orgasm ripped a powerful spasm through my belly and made me clench around him, as if I wanted to milk his cock with my pussy. He let out a muffled curse and kept going just long enough to break apart behind me.

I felt him come inside me in hot, thick pulses, unloading so deep that it made me arch my back. Each throb of his cum seemed to prolong his size, his heat, his hardness. And I kept contracting around him, squeezing him, enjoying having him trapped while he emptied all his cum inside me.

We stayed still for a few seconds, breathing like exhausted animals. His cock was still inside me, sensitive and throbbing. My thighs were wet, my panties half lost, and my head floated with pleasure.

I thought that was where it would end. But it didn’t.

He kissed my neck slowly, as if now he could finally take liberties, and began rubbing my clitoris again with the tips of his wet fingers. His cock was still hard inside me, perhaps less rigid, but still big, still capable. That mixture of sensitivity and obscenity pushed me to the edge again.

—Don’t take it out yet—I told him, my voice broken.

He gave a low, incredulous laugh and began moving again. More slowly this time. Pulling it out only slightly and sinking it back in carefully, as if he wanted to enjoy how slippery everything was after he had come. I could feel the hot mixture trickling out a little, and it aroused me insanely.

The second round was even dirtier, because there was no doubt or caution left. I knew how he fucked me, and he knew how my body responded. He spread one of my legs a little farther with his to get a better angle and began driving it deeper. His hand returned between my legs and devoted itself to my clitoris with expert, insistent movements while his cock pushed inside me.

I came again almost without warning. This time it lasted longer, wetter, messier. A moan escaped me, which I disguised with a cough, and he took advantage of it to cover my mouth with an awkward kiss on the cheek. I felt him harden completely again and understood that he was going to come once more.

—Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight—he murmured.

—Then come again.

He did. With less violence than the first time, but with a depth that left my legs weak. His thrusts gradually slowed until they ended in a long tremor inside me. Then he stayed motionless, holding my waist, breathing heavily, as if returning to the real world were difficult.

***

I don’t know when we rearranged ourselves. I only remember the sensation of dampness, my exhausted body, and the blanket still over our legs. I must have fallen asleep for a while, because I woke to the gray light of dawn coming through the window.

He was in his seat, his laptop closed on top of the backpack, as if nothing had happened. My dress was properly in place and my panties were back where they belonged, though I could still feel my pussy sensitive, full, used. For a few seconds I even wondered whether I had dreamed it all.

Then I looked at the profile of his jaw, his beard, his feigned calm, and I knew I hadn’t. That body wasn’t a dream. Neither was what still throbbed between my legs.

I took out my phone and saw a pending friend request from him on social media. I smiled to myself. I accepted it and, without thinking too much, sent him my number.

He woke up soon afterward. He stretched, put away his laptop, and sat up with an almost insolent naturalness. When he sat back down, he glanced at me.

—Did you get any sleep?—he asked.

I watched him for a few seconds, letting him sweat. Then I leaned toward him.

—I slept very little—I told him. —And I’m not going to live with the doubt of whether it was all real.

His expression changed. That mixture of surprise, lust, and satisfaction confirmed what was obvious.

—Then don’t get off quickly—I added. —You’re coming with me.

He really did blush. It was almost tender, if he hadn’t had the face of a man who had buried his cock deep inside me in the middle of a bus. He nodded slowly.

When we reached the station, we lined up to get off. I was in front. I felt his chest against my back, too close to be accidental. Then, for a second, the hard bulge of his cock slid between my thighs from behind, outlined beneath his clothes, hard again.

My breath caught. I squeezed my legs together on instinct, and heat shot straight to my pussy.

He brought his mouth close to my ear.

—Wait until we get there—he whispered.

I closed my eyes for an instant, feeling that I was still carrying his cum inside me and could barely walk normally.

I didn’t know whether I’d be able to wait that long. But I knew one thing: that journey wasn’t going to end at the station.