My Girlfriend's Bus Romance

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

As dawn broke, I woke up and took a shower. While showering, I kept thinking about what had happened yesterday. Suddenly, a bold idea popped into my head. Wouldn't it be even more exciting if my wife went out without a bra? I quickly finished showering and tiptoed out of the bathroom. My wife was lying naked on her side on the bed, a blanket draped over her stomach, her entire thigh and most of her breasts exposed to the air. The underwear I had torn off last night was scattered haphazardly on the floor.

A conspiracy was secretly born.

When I returned to bed, my wife was still asleep. I gently stroked her thighs and sucked on her nipples. With soft moans, my wife slowly opened her eyes. Her hands gently brushed my hair, and she hugged me tightly, rubbing her breasts against my chest. My hands cupped her hips, and her legs slowly parted; she began to respond to my movements. She sat on my stomach, her two ample breasts squeezed and deformed by my hands. She slightly raised her head, her tongue swirling around her lips. My belly was already submerged in water; my wife was in heat.

I patted her bottom and told her we were going out to play later, and we could continue tonight.

"Okay." She rolled off, picked up her underwear from the floor, and prepared to take a shower.

"Ah!" I turned around and saw my wife holding a bra cup in each hand. "Did you tear them yesterday?" "Maybe, the quality is too poor." "How can I go out? I only brought one."

"Don't wear them, no one knows you anyway."

After showering, she tried on her bra for a long time, looking at herself in the mirror for a long time. She hadn't washed her clothes from the past few days, and her low-cut tank top made her nipples too obvious. Finally, my wife went out wearing her newly bought pink low-cut dress. Although it was revealing, it wasn't too see-through.

The room wasn't well lit, and the left breast of the dress had more wrinkles, so she pinned a metal brooch on her right breast, barely concealing the nipple. But things were completely different outdoors. Under the light, the outline of her white underwear was visible from behind. Her back was quite sheer, and apart from her bare back, there was no trace of a bra; anyone could tell she wasn't wearing one. As she walked, her breasts swayed erratically from side to side. My wife could only clutch her bag and walk with her head down. We inevitably attracted many stares.

It was too early, and no lingerie shops were open. We had a quick breakfast together and returned to the hotel.

My wife sat on the edge of the bed, refusing to go out. I knelt beside her, trying to persuade her.

Suddenly, I noticed her underwear—it was wet, a large patch, and quite soaking wet. I didn't say anything, but I was secretly pleased; she was excited too. I told her that no one knew her here, and besides, there were no bras to buy. We couldn't stay in the room all day while traveling. After much persuasion, my wife finally agreed.

During the May Day holiday, it was impossible to get a taxi, so we took a bus. There was one seat left near the back door. My wife sat down, clutching her bag to her chest, while I stood beside her.

After one stop, the back door opened, and a gust of wind blew, lifting my wife's skirt. The dress was too short and thin, instantly revealing her white panties. Luckily, there weren't many people on the train. To avoid further exposure, she placed her bag on her lap to hold down the skirt. However, the upper edge of the bag was tightly pressed against the lower edge of my wife's breasts, pushing half of her breasts out of the dress's covering. It was like wearing a bra, except this time there was only a support, no bra. Her nipples, bypassing the protection of the brooch and the folds of the dress, pressed tightly against the fabric. From my angle, most of my wife's breasts were completely exposed to the air.

After another stop, many more people boarded. Perhaps attracted by her beauty, most of the men crowded around my wife's seat. A man around 30 years old squeezed next to me, glanced at me, as if to say, "Good things shouldn't be kept to oneself; I should come and see too."

I tactfully moved aside. My wife turned her head and glanced at me. I smiled slightly, and she turned her head back to look out the window. As

soon as she turned away, the men around us all turned their gaze to her chest. With the bumps of the car, her breasts swayed back and forth in front of everyone. The 30-year-old man stared, not blinking, completely oblivious to the stares of those around him, who were also watching.

As the swaying increased, combined with the weight of the brooch, suddenly, I saw my wife's nipples. The pink nipples, with the opening and closing of her collar, were intermittently exposed to everyone's eyes. The man suddenly took a deep breath, whether from the long-awaited moment finally appearing, or from being amazed by the unexpected sight. My heart was pounding, but my wife remained looking out the window, her face expressionless.

Beneath her fair skin, two mounds of flesh were also throbbing. Without the restraint of a bra, through a thin veil, the allure was indescribable. The two men next to me already had large bulges.

After one stop, many more people boarded, and I was completely pushed to the back of the crowd. Thinking of my helpless wife being watched by a group of people, I felt somewhat lost, both excited and a little sour. Through the gaps in the crowd, my wife was looking for me. She looked around but couldn't see me. Surrounded by a dense mass of people, she didn't know where to look.

Suddenly, she lowered her head and quickly glanced at her chest. Her breasts created a deep cleavage, and with the bumps of the vehicle, her breasts twisted and deformed, and the opening and closing of her collar made her nipples appear and disappear.

She only stole a glance, did nothing, and turned her head back to look out the window.

"She knows?" A jolt of electricity ran through my body. She had known all along that she was exposed, but had been pretending to be indifferent. As she turned her head to the window, her legs pressed tightly together, and her hands gripping her bag tightened even more; she must be soaking wet. She aroused everyone's lust, including my own.

Fantasizing about my wife's wet lower body, looking at her nearly naked upper body, and the lewd gazes of the group of perverts around us, I got hard, incredibly hard, and could even feel the wetness. We

were almost at the station. I slowly walked towards the door, glancing back at my wife. She had also gotten up from her seat, saw me, and slowly walked towards me.

I turned back, grabbed the handrail, and then turned back again. My wife was still there, head down, right hand holding her bag, left hand gripping the handrail.

The 30-year-old man was blocking my wife's path with his left arm, constantly rubbing against her chest.

The man was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and my wife was just a thin veil; their bodies were practically colliding flesh, and touching so tightly.

The man pressed against her tightly, and his wife didn't react much, letting him do as he pleased. She lowered her head slightly, but her face was already red. Several men around them, still not satisfied after watching the whole way, tilted their heads to stare at his wife's body. Another man pressed his leg against his wife's leg and buttocks, and even peered sideways into his wife's cleavage.

Suddenly, the car braked sharply, and his wife lost her balance, falling towards the 30-year-old man. Due to the loss of balance, the man's arm quickly rose, his palm brushing against his wife's chest. A strange glint flashed in the man's eyes. Although his wife wasn't wearing a bra, he could see everything, but the contact of an arm and the contact of a hand were completely different. That touch through the thin fabric left him wanting more. As the car came to a stop, the man's hand naturally fell, stopping when it passed by his wife's chest. His palm slightly contracted inward, and he gently pinched his wife's nipple. Before she could regain her balance, LP fell onto the man, her breasts resting in his palm, his erect penis pressing against her full, round buttocks. Those two seconds were probably unforgettable for him.

LP walked over; the bus hadn't reached the stop yet, and she stood next to me. She didn't speak, her face still flushed, head down, gripping the vertical handrail. I also reached out and grabbed the handrail, my arm passing over LP's chest, inadvertently touching her breasts, peering through her collar at her cleavage and nipples. This was far more exciting than spying on a stranger.

I whispered, "We're almost there."

She hummed in response. A man who had been watching earlier slowly walked up behind her; clearly, he didn't know LP and I were together, and my actions made me look like a perverted man taking advantage of a passenger on a bus.

It was a large station, and many people were squeezing towards the back door. The man grabbed the horizontal handrail above, his lower body pressed tightly against my wife's shapely buttocks, his head jutting over her shoulder, his eyes peering down at her breasts. With the jolting of the train and the crowd, his lower body moved slightly forward and backward, while my wife maintained the same expression, only slightly biting her lip. Clearly, she knew, but she didn't avoid it; she was simply enjoying it, enjoying the stranger's invasion of her private parts. A fiery passion ignited within her, a fire that needed something hard to extinguish. Her breasts pushed forward slightly, pressing against my arm; her hips arched slightly, welcoming the man's intrusion. The man's left hand dangled at his side, the back of his hand lightly touching my wife's smooth, white thigh. She jolted, her leg slightly forward, clearly startled by the movement, but her hips arched even further back.

A sudden stop; the station had arrived. The man thrust forward forcefully, and my wife let out a soft cry. If it weren't for my arm blocking her way, she might have been pushed down a step. That blocking also made my arm feel the impact deeply—a sensual impact, a sensual impact…

[The End]

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