Young woman on long-distance bus

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

On September 30, 2003, I was a 23-year-old young man. School was closed for the National Day holiday, and since my neighbor's older brother was getting married on the 1st, I had decided on the 30th that I would get back home no matter how late the train ride. Train tickets were sold out two days in advance, so it seemed I would have to take a bus. It suddenly started to drizzle in the afternoon, but I still went to the long-distance bus station. Perhaps to release the pent-up energy from the May Day holiday due to SARS, the station was packed with passengers. After queuing for more than three hours, I finally climbed through the window of a belatedly arriving Iveco van and embarked on my journey back to Qingdao. The bus was mostly filled with students going home. After settling in, I glanced out the window and saw hundreds of people still waiting as the bus started moving. I felt a sense of triumph. Because overloading on buses was strictly enforced during the holiday, drivers could only fill the row of temporary folding chairs in the aisle; they dared not pick up even one more passenger before the bus left the station.
The rain outside seemed to intensify, and darkness gradually fell. The car wound its way through the city towards the Jinan-Qingdao Expressway. Exhausted from waiting in line for the bus, I listlessly closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep. Suddenly, the bus stopped by the roadside, and the driver secretly picked up two more passengers. A man and a woman boarded. I glanced at them lazily, muttering to myself, "This damn driver, he's risking his life for money! It's already dark, why isn't he hurrying to get going? He's still picking up passengers!" The other passengers seemed equally annoyed by the driver's behavior, grumbling amongst themselves. The woman who had just boarded seemed to feel guilty, quickly apologizing and squeezing towards the back. When the two of them reached my seat, the passengers in the last row, realizing they were trying to squeeze in, began shouting, in an uncompromising tone, that there were no seats left in the back. Helpless, the two were stuck in the middle of the bus. So the woman approached me in an almost fawning tone, "Young man, could we squeeze in and sit together? We're both in a hurry to get home, and I think we might even be from the same hometown, right?" I then took a good look at her. She was wearing a beige suit, flesh-colored stockings, slightly plump, with short, neat hair, and fairly attractive. I guessed she was a young married woman. "Oh," I replied reluctantly, shifting my position as she sat down. What happened next was completely unexpected. She sat down to my left, while the man wasn't so lucky; he stood behind me against the chair.
The woman seemed a little embarrassed after sitting down and started chatting enthusiastically with me. From her, I learned that she was from Jiaozhou, worked alone in Jinan, and had a husband and a three-year-old child at home. I responded to her casually.
Because the seats were so small, we squeezed tightly together. Because she had gotten wet in the rain before getting on the bus, her clothes were a little damp. Leaning against me, I could clearly feel the warmth emanating from her body. Perhaps she was truly exhausted, because I slumped back against the seat in front of me and drifted off to sleep. With each bump of the bus, my drooping left hand occasionally brushed against hers. Perhaps she sensed I was testing her, because suddenly, she gripped my hand tightly. Then, our hands became entangled, as if she had been deprived of sex for a long time in Jinan and was eager to release it on me, like a female dog in heat coming to my door. Her skin was still quite delicate, her long fingers smooth and soft. I remained leaning against the seat in front of me, afraid to move, lest people around us notice. But I couldn't suppress the restlessness that comes with age. I pulled my other hand from under my forehead and quietly touched her… She seemed to like it and leaned closer to me. My hand slipped inside her bra, smooth and flat. She was a little plump, or so it seemed, with the belly of a mother who had given birth. My hand paused there for a moment, tracing a few circles with my fingertips, then mischievously pinched it, before laboriously moving upwards. Slowly, I licked her smooth, delicate skin, like a thick tongue licking her buttocks and thighs through her skirt, making her feel ticklish and tingly. But I was still worried about being discovered, so I carefully pinched her skin, teasing her body. Just when I could no longer reach forward, she leaned closer to me, and we were now intertwined. Suddenly, things took a turn for the better; my hand encountered trouble, beginning its winding ascent. It was her breasts, very large breasts, still so firm despite having nurtured a child. I first scratched the buds around the peaks, one by one, tracing circles around them, but I wasn't in a hurry to provoke the nipple. Like a greedy kitten staring intently at two small fish, contemplating how to make my move. Once I could clearly feel her breasts harden and swell as if injected with something, I began to focus on her. I pinched her nipples with my index finger and thumb, rubbing and rotating them back and forth, while my palm and the other three hands simultaneously pressed, kneaded, pinched, rubbed, pulled, and flicked the rest of her breasts… In the dim light of the streetlamp, I stole a glance at her; her beautiful face seemed to be flushed, and her breathing was slightly coquettish and moaning. I could feel that her whole body was limp and had no strength left, which pleased me greatly, as if I had captured prey. Slowly, she leaned forward and rested against the back of the chair, which made it even easier for my hands to work. In fact, at this point, my hands were in the best position to directly engage with her breasts. I found that my hands weren't big enough to hold those enormous breasts, but I still tried my best to spread my hands out into a bowl shape and gently cup them over her breasts, supporting them firmly, stroking them softly, and occasionally squeezing them hard. At this moment, she seemed to be stimulated and gripped my left hand tightly. I thought that if it were just the two of us, she would scream! Unfortunately, there were many people on the bus, otherwise she would definitely scream. And I really like women's low moans and wanton screams when they are excited. I think that would be very exciting and would give me more motivation. But after a short while of groping and probing, the hand I had been using to caress her breasts began to stir again: first, my five fingers gently massaged different areas, then my palm joined in, her nipples now resting beneath my touch. I continued to press my palm, middle, ring, and little fingers against her breasts, while my thumb and index finger gently pinched and rotated the nipples. But I wasn't satisfied with that. I forcefully reached for the other breast, placing my thumb and little finger on one nipple, while the other three fingers unhesitatingly occupied the cleavage, like three arrows fired simultaneously, each claiming a prime spot. As the middle three fingers crawled and prodded in the cleavage, my thumb and little finger tapped rhythmically on their respective spots, as if playing the piano…
At this moment, my left hand, which she was holding tightly, was not idle either. It was darting in and out of her palm. I imagined her thumb and forefinger as two labia, gently rubbing and stroking between my fingers. I extended my middle finger, and she understood and clenched it. This time, she didn't clench it too tightly. Then I gently thrust in and out, imitating the act of making love. My fingers kept thrusting and rotating in and out of her hand. Each time I thrust, she would obediently clench my fingers tightly, just like the contraction of a vagina during lovemaking. Occasionally, I would gently scratch her palm with the finger that was inserted inside. Sometimes I would also put two fingers in her hand. I stole another glance at her and saw that she seemed to be dying of ecstasy, about to faint. Her legs were tightly pressed together, and I could almost feel streams of fluid flowing from her uterus. Then I pulled out my penis, ready to enter her. The frighteningly large organ made her feel a slight swelling pain. Then she suddenly looked at me with an expression of both love and hate and cried out, "No, no..." Imagining all this, I couldn't hold back anymore. I forcefully pulled my left hand back, pulled up my pants, and my penis was already proudly erect. By this time, the bus had entered the highway, and everyone on the bus had fallen asleep at this steady speed, except for the poor person behind me who had no seat. I looked at her, and she seemed to understand. She got up and leaned over to tell me that I should cover it up, as the bus was full of fellow villagers going home and it wouldn't be good if people saw it. I smiled and obediently placed the Qilu Evening News that I was carrying on it. Ha! The thing was hidden behind a large newspaper like an oil-soaked candle, unable to contain my excitement. She seemed unable to contain herself any longer. She reached under the newspaper, unzipped my pants, and slipped her hand inside. Then we both leaned against the back of the chair, our heads very close together. She gently stroked my penis, and I kept stroking her large breasts, fantasizing about the two of us lying naked on the bed, entwined together, having sex. Thinking about all this, I smiled. I never thought I would be this kind of person. Heh, maybe it's because I've been suppressing myself for too long, I thought. Then, I immersed myself in this enjoyment, gently blowing into her ear and deliberately moaning softly. I thought that would make her feel good. She was completely intoxicated by it, concentrating on masturbating me. Although she was using only one hand, I could still feel that she was a sex superhuman. She pulled, rubbed, and gently pinched, rubbing my penis back and forth in her hand. I felt like I was flying. I didn't know that masturbation could be so pleasurable, because I never masturbate normally. I used to have a girlfriend and we had sex, but since we broke up, I've been suppressing myself and couldn't get any release. At this point, she seemed to reach her limit too. She pulled my right hand out of her clothes and placed it on her leg. Of course, I knew what she wanted me to do. I started gently tickling her through her stockings. I knew she must be feeling very itchy and desperately wanted my penis inside her vagina, and to keep going until she reached a masochistic climax accompanied by her screams. Although I wanted that too, it was impossible. So I could only slowly move my hand up her leg. Ugh! It's all because my arms are short. After reaching her inner thigh, I couldn't go any further. If I wanted to go any deeper, I would have to bend over, but that would be noticed. So my hand stopped near her vagina and started circling around. At this point, she increased the pressure of her masturbation. I could hear her moaning softly in my ear... Just as she was playing with my penis at a speed of several rubs per second, I suddenly felt a warm, hot stream gushing out and spraying onto the newspaper. At that moment, she gripped my penis tightly and didn't move.
Just then, the bus reached the Zibo section of the highway. Because the highway was under repair, the bus suddenly slowed down. This startled the sleeping passengers, who muttered about what was happening. I, who hadn't finished dealing with the aftermath, could only awkwardly leave my penis lying behind the newspaper. She, on the other hand, seemed quite experienced, so nothing happened. She muttered that she was exhausted as she stood up. I, as if startled, hurriedly withdrew my hand. I watched her stretch and then put her hands on the back of the seat in front of her, her lower body pressed tightly against it. I suddenly realized that my hand fit perfectly inside. I secretly glanced around, feeling that they wouldn't see anything. In the dimly lit bus, I boldly and slowly slipped my hand under her skirt. She lowered her head and smiled at me as if to encourage me. I secretly rejoiced. One hand snaked along her leg, but I wasn't in a hurry to touch her vulva, even though I knew that place was already open to me. I continued to play with the skin near her vagina, slowly, slowly. I felt her legs begin to clamp my hand tightly, almost immobilizing it. Then, I felt a slippery, sticky substance flow onto my hand. I knew the time was right. I glanced up at her and saw her looking at me with an almost pleading gaze. I was worried about being noticed for that strange look. I knew that once a woman is aroused, she won't care about anything. So, I started to move my hand upwards. But I wasn't in a hurry to touch there. Beyond the flowing spring, my hand began to gently scratch her pubic hair, searching for something in that dense thicket like a hunter. Her pubic hair was thick, and occasionally I would tug it slightly, causing her body to tremble slightly. Sometimes I would gently pinch a strand of pubic hair between my index and middle fingers and play with it; other times I would pull it out in large clumps with my whole palm. Her pubic area was already overflowing, and when my hand accidentally touched it, I felt the stream begin to swell. The water flowed silently, carrying a coolness and the fragrance of wild grass. So, I scooped some of her vaginal fluid and smeared it on her pubic hair. Heh heh, she seemed to be unable to bear it any longer. I caught a glimpse of her looking at me with hungry, pleading eyes. I suddenly realized I couldn't continue playing like this, because she couldn't stand for too long, or someone would notice something was amiss. So, my hand moved down, plunging into the overflowing stream, my fingers groping in the flood of vaginal fluid, searching for her labia. First! Her labia were thick and slightly droopy. Perhaps that's why—it's the vagina of someone who has given birth! I first grasped one labia and rubbed it incessantly, gently pulling and flicking it with my fingers. Then, I touched the other labia, to be fair! Next, I pinched one labia between my thumb and forefinger, and the other between my forefinger and middle finger, gently pulling them outwards. My hand swam freely inside, sometimes like a breaststroke, sometimes like a butterfly stroke, splashing water like a ballet performance. I could almost hear the pattering of raindrops on banana leaves, a beautiful accompaniment to this wonderful performance, a melodious sound that captivated me. By this time, her vaginal fluids were overflowing. I gently pressed inwards with my hand, then used my middle and ring fingers to separate the labia, which were already open on their own, while my thumb and forefinger began to soothe her clitoris. I could feel that the clitoris was hard and swollen, like a small penis. So I gently pulled on it and softly rubbed it. Yes, not just intercourse, sometimes touching with your hand can bring more sexual satisfaction than intercourse, because it involves many sexual fantasies. I kept changing the way I masturbated her, while stealing glances at her. She was biting her lip, feigning pain, and I knew she was at her limit. So I moved my fingers, which were pressing against her labia, directly to her clitoris, maximizing the arousal of the woman beside me. Finally, I boldly and decisively inserted my fingers, sliding them in and out, first one, then two, three, and finally four. Sometimes I would let my fingers linger inside for a moment, probing the soft flesh. This wave-like thrusting sent her to heaven. I knew that if it were just the two of us, she would beg me to give in now. Suddenly, her legs clamped tightly together, as if trying to break my hand, rendering it completely immobile. I felt an even greater torrent flow from her uterus, her vagina contracting incessantly. Yes, she had orgasmed. I looked up at her, and she smiled and gave me a soft bark, like the joyful moans of someone who had reached orgasm, completely oblivious to the passengers around her. Slowly, her legs began to loosen, and I carefully withdrew my hand. She sat down. I looked back and saw that the person standing behind us was watching us, which made me quite embarrassed.
The bus was still crawling along, and passengers were still grumbling from time to time. I was getting tired, but she became excited and started chattering in my ear. Of course, I'm not the kind of person who would just lie down and sleep after sex without taking responsibility. I know that sometimes women need foreplay and afterplay more than the feeling during sex itself, so we started chatting. She kept praising me for being so good, and I told her I was just average because it was my instinctive reaction; I was just going with the flow. Then I asked her random questions about the differences between me and her husband, when she got her first period, when she had her first time having sex, how it felt, whether she masturbated, and other trivial topics.
The car finally broke through the repair section and started speeding up. My mood improved, so I began telling her stories about the ancient Chinese Buddha of Bliss, tales from *The Confessions of Monica Lewinsky*, *Madame Bovary*, Japanese cartoons I'd watched, and the different moans and reactions I'd seen in adult films, and my impressions of Japanese, Western European, and Chinese women during sex, their preferred positions, etc. Sometimes I'd tell her a slightly risqué joke, and she'd playfully pinch me. ...
It was nearly midnight, a time when things were likely to go wrong, when the car slowly pulled into Qingdao. I got off before her, and as I was getting ready to pack my luggage, she took a business card from her bag and handed it to me, asking me to contact her when I got back to Jinan. I nodded, grabbed my bag, and got off the car. (04-11 Great writing, I hope to see more of your work in the future

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Young woman on long-distance bus

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