Met on the long-distance bus

page views:1 Publication date:2023-06-11 11:02:45

I'm Liu, a 26-year-old assistant manager at a four-star hotel. I've been working here for a little over two years. I'm 1.67 meters tall and weigh 50 kilograms. While I wouldn't call myself stunningly beautiful, I'm still pretty and charming, and what I'm most proud of is my curvaceous figure. After graduating from university, I got a job at this hotel as a front desk receptionist. Because of my hard work, warm and attentive service to guests, and my major in tourism management, I was promoted to assistant and personal secretary by the manager in less than two years.

This year, during the Mid-Autumn Festival holiday, I planned to accompany my boyfriend to visit his parents by train. However, the hotel unexpectedly arranged a holiday banquet for a large company, and the manager assigned me to handle the reception. Although reluctant, I had to tell my boyfriend to go back by train first to prepare, while I took a long-distance bus the next day, arranging for him to pick me up at the station.

The banquet went relatively smoothly that evening; the performances and reception work went without any major problems. However, the follow-up work kept me busy until after 1 a.m. before I finally dragged my tired body out of the hotel. I woke up at 9 a.m. the next day. Not wanting to be impolite at my boyfriend's house, I quickly dressed up, grabbed a quick breakfast, and rushed to the long-distance bus station. By the time I reached the ticket hall, it was already 11:30. After buying my ticket and boarding the bus, I asked the driver and learned that a section of the highway was closed for construction, requiring a detour. What used to be a four-hour journey might now take six hours. The regular seated buses had been replaced with old-fashioned "2+1" double-decker sleeper buses. "2+1" meant there was a single row of seats on the right side of the bus, while "2" consisted of two adjacent bunk beds, with a narrow aisle between them. I had a bad feeling. To make a good impression on my boyfriend's family—to be beautiful, sexy, elegant, and sophisticated—I had specifically worn a black Korean-style office lady short-sleeved fitted dress with black stockings, aiming to showcase my perfect figure and unique charm. However, on this kind of sleeper bus, my attire was extremely inappropriate. All my advantages turned into disadvantages, making me prone to accidental exposure and attracting perverts. I carefully looked around the bus. The single berths on the left were already full, and although each row of double berths on the right had two seats, they were right next to each other, with a combined width of less than a meter. Wearing a skirt, I naturally didn't want to squeeze in with strange men. I walked all the way to the middle and back of the bus before finding that the lower berth in the last row was still empty. I secretly rejoiced, thinking that the bus would depart at 12 o'clock, and even if a few more people got on, they would sit in the front and wouldn't squeeze into the last row with me. So I lay down in the last row by the window. Sure enough, two or three more passengers got on after me. Seeing that there were no single seats, they found empty seats in the front. But it was this seemingly clever decision that made my memory of the long-distance sleeper bus unforgettable.

As the bus started moving, a man in his forties hurriedly boarded. After glancing around the carriage, he headed straight for the last row, and I cursed my bad luck. He approached me and politely asked, "Miss, is this seat taken?" I had no choice but to shake my head. He smiled and nodded, placed a large suitcase on the overhead rack opposite me, and then sat down in the seat next to me. While he was putting down his luggage, I secretly sized him up. He had dark skin, wore a dark red men's t-shirt tucked into blue jeans, and was reasonably clean, which made me secretly breathe a sigh of relief. Perhaps due to regular exercise or manual labor, he put down his suitcase with ease, and his movements revealed strong arms and a robust build, without the typical potbelly of a middle-aged man. However, what made me uncomfortable was that when he lay down, our shoulders, backs, and legs inevitably pressed together.

"Hey little sister, you're a college student, right? Are you home for vacation?" The man probably thought I was a college student because I was young and pretty and not wearing much makeup.

I remember blushing and my heart pounding when a boy approached me for the first time in middle school, but now, much later, I'm much more experienced. Although this was the first time a man so much older than me had approached me, I didn't take it too seriously. I just thought he was a bit shameless and had questionable taste. But perhaps out of professional habit, I smiled slightly at him and politely said, "Sir, you have good taste. I'm home visiting family, but I've been working for two years now."

The man, realizing he'd guessed wrong, chuckled awkwardly and said, "Oh, seeing how young you are, I thought you were a student! I run my own business. I live here, and I'm going to ** city for business." I thought to myself, "I didn't even ask you, and you're already introducing yourself. You're so informal." But then I thought about how mature and sexy I was dressed, and how my dress was an office lady style, and he still guessed I was a college student, and I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. After exchanging a few polite words with him, I turned my head to look out the window and ignored him.

About half an hour after the bus left the station, we entered the highway. I noticed the passengers were all drawing their curtains, so I did too, and the bus slowly darkened. Perhaps because of the dim light, or perhaps because I had stayed up too late the night before, I felt waves of drowsiness wash over me. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and I slowly closed my eyes… I don't know how long I slept, but I was suddenly awakened by an itchy sensation on my inner thigh. In my drowsy state, the feeling seemed familiar, because it made my heart itch too—it felt like my boyfriend's hand… I suddenly snapped back to reality. No, this was a long-distance bus; it must be the middle-aged man's groping hands next to me. I slightly opened my eyes and glanced to the side. Sometime during the journey, a blanket had been placed over me, and the middle-aged man was groping my body under the thin blanket.

The middle-aged man next to me was lying flat on his seat, pretending to be asleep with his eyes closed. His left hand, hidden under the blanket, was caressing the inside of my thigh through my skirt, slowly moving towards my private parts. His movements were very gentle; his fingers rhythmically circled my skirt. At first, I only felt an itch on my thigh, but gradually I felt an itch all over my body from his touch. He seemed very familiar with the female body, quickly finding my genitals—how audacious! I didn't know what to do, so I continued to pretend to be asleep, feeling utterly disgusted and ashamed.

This middle-aged man was cunning. He pretended to be asleep while slowly caressing my private parts. He placed his palm on my vulva, his middle finger searching for my slit, while his little finger and thumb rested on my soft inner thigh… “What should I do? If I just push his hand away from my private parts, he might continue to harass me! If I shout ‘sexual harassment,’ not only will I be embarrassed, but if I anger him, will it be bad for me?”

That’s it. I’ll pretend to be asleep for now, then squeeze my legs together, and when he tries to pull his hand away, I’ll suddenly turn my body inward to escape his clutches. At the same time, I’ll let him know, “I’m awake, get your hand off my body…” This way, we both have room to maneuver.

Thinking of this, I suddenly squeezed my legs together forcefully, intending to startle him and make him remove his hand. But unexpectedly, as I squeezed my legs together, I tightly clamped his palm. Even more surprisingly, he was very experienced, and his caressing technique was very skillful. Not only did he not remove his hand from my body, but the side of his palm, under the pressure of my legs, pressed firmly against the slit of my vulva.

Oh... how could this be...? This man's hand stuck there only intensified my physical sensations; my heart started racing, and my private parts felt hot—probably because my body is more sensitive before menstruation.

Seeing me suddenly squeeze my legs together, the middle-aged man's rough hands began to caress the inside of my thighs, while the side of his hand rubbed back and forth between my labia. My squeezing my legs together didn't stop his assault; instead, it made him think my body was aroused by his touch.

I decided to take further action to stop his assault. I suddenly turned and moved my body towards the inside of the carriage, simultaneously changing the position of my legs, allowing my private parts to escape his clutches. My movement seemed to startle the man; his hand stopped moving.

Just when I thought my actions had warned him and he wouldn't assault me again, the middle-aged man rolled over, pressing his strong chest tightly against my back. He then used his entire body to push me into a corner of the carriage. I knew I was in trouble; he was going to continue assaulting me. Sure enough, a moment later, one of his hands was on my calf again. Seeing that I didn't react, he slowly moved his hand up my inner thigh. This time, he was bolder, actually slipping his hand directly under my skirt, slowly moving along my smooth stockings. His fingers found my vulva again and began to caress it.

Before, his harassment was through my skirt, which, although it made me feel itchy, my body could still tolerate it. But this time, his fingers were directly pressing against my vulva, with only a thin layer of lace panties and sheer black stockings on the outside. Soon, I blushed and my heart was pounding from his caresses, and my vulva slowly became wet. I couldn't help but squeeze my legs together again. At this moment, the middle-aged man seemed to notice the change in my body. He suddenly grabbed one side of my panties and stockings, tightly pulling them between my labia, and then began to shake them back and forth.

I knew he was rubbing my panties and stockings against my labia… I had never felt this before, but it did feel very good. He seemed to know a lot about the female body, knowing how to tease my sensitive areas to arouse me. He was doing such a disgusting thing to me, but my body became more and more aroused, and this excitement kept hitting my self-esteem.

I knew that if this continued, my vagina would become even wetter, and my juices would slowly flow onto my panties and stockings, which would undoubtedly excite this man even more. I couldn't let this happen. Thinking of this, my shame overcame my excitement, and I forcefully pushed away his clutches, then used my hands to firmly block my vulva.

Then there were a few minutes of calm. The middle-aged man knew I was resisting, but he pretended to be asleep as if nothing had happened. After a while, the middle-aged man turned over, facing the aisle. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief, but still didn't dare remove my hand from my private parts. At this moment, the middle-aged man pretended to yawn, then slowly stood up, took a small pouch from his suitcase, placed it under his pillow, and then turned around to pull the curtain of the last row of compartments closed, so that the passengers on the opposite side of the aisle couldn't see what was happening in our berth. Although I didn't know what he was going to do, I was certain that this man hadn't given up on my body.

The middle-aged man covered me with the blanket again, then slowly lay down. I felt his chest pressed tightly against my back again, and a deep voice sounded in my ear: "Little beauty, did you feel good just now? Dressed so sexily on a long bus ride, with that tight skirt and black stockings, isn't it just so you can get someone to touch you?"

Although I wanted to refute that it wasn't a tight skirt, it was true that I was dressed like that. I was afraid that if I said anything, he would say something even more embarrassing, so I didn't answer him.

"This is the first time I've met such a young and beautiful girl like you on a long-distance bus. If you just listen to me, I guarantee I'll make you feel incredibly good and let you experience the joy of being a woman." After saying this, he reached under the blanket again and placed his hand on my hand, which was protecting my private parts. I immediately covered my private parts tightly with one hand and placed the other hand across my chest to prevent him from violating my breasts.

Seeing that I was protecting my private parts tightly, making it impossible for him to find a way to do anything, the middle-aged man reached into his waist bag under the pillow and started rummaging for something. Suddenly, I felt a chill on my face. It turned out that the middle-aged man was using the sheath of a small knife to slash at my face. I was so scared that my heart almost jumped out of my body, and my whole body began to tremble uncontrollably, my chest heaving violently. Just then, the voice came again: "Little beauty, don't be stubborn. I'm going to take you down today. You'd better behave and not move or make a sound, or I'll feel sorry for you if you get a scar or two on your pretty face."

I was spoiled by my parents growing up, and I'd never experienced such a tense moment before. My mind went blank, terrified that he would actually pull out a knife and hurt me. Normally eloquent, I was now too nervous to utter a single word. I tried to regulate my breathing, regain my composure, and stammered, "B-Big brother, let's...let's talk...what...what do you want?" The

middle-aged man, perhaps seeing how frightened I was, chuckled and said, "You're an educated college student, don't you know what I want? As long as you behave and don't move or scream, I won't hurt you. Besides, a beautiful woman like you, I'm too busy being nice to you, how could I bear to be rough with you? How about it?"

I knew there was still a long way to go before the bus arrived at the station. For hours, no matter what I did, I couldn't escape his grasp. Today, I was doomed. A beautiful woman doesn't fight fire with fire, so I slowly nodded and said, "Then... put the knife away first." Seeing that I had yielded to his request, the middle-aged man immediately put the knife back in his bag. Then he moved closer to my body again, one hand reaching towards my private parts. I was already frozen with fear, my hands still in the same position. He slowly took my hand that had been protecting my private parts and gently placed it on the outside of my thigh. Then he slipped his hand under my skirt and began his previous actions, slowly stroking from my inner thigh towards my vulva. I knew it was wrong for him to touch my body like that, but the memory of the knife that had just slid across my face made my body feel like it had been frozen in place, unable to move.

Seeing that I was compliant and no longer resisted, the middle-aged man began rubbing my labia with my underwear and stockings again. As the rubbing continued, the fear and stiffness I had felt earlier slowly dissipated under the strange sensation, and the initial excitement surged back. It was itchy, and my vagina felt hot again, as if it had already begun to moisten.

At this moment, the humiliation of being forced by a stranger, the excitement of being touched by a pervert, and the thrill of being discovered constantly assaulted my fragile psychological defenses. This strange feeling was unbearable. Although I was being forced, I suddenly had a feeling that I didn't want the stranger to leave my body. Involuntarily, I straightened my legs and leaned back into the middle-aged man's arms.

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Met on the long-distance bus

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