Chapter 35: a surprise molester massage, not above but below
The bus lurched to a stop, packing more people in. A man, young and lean, was pushed firmly against her back. She felt the hard line of his body press into her. An apology died on his lips as his hips settled against her backside and then she felt it.
A hardness of a meat rod… A distinct, rigid length nestled into the cleft of her buttocks, even through the layers of her saree and Lehenga. Her breath froze. She dared not move. His hands came up to grip the overhead railing on either side of her, caging her in.
The bus started moving again, and with the rhythm of the engine, he began to move too. A subtle, barely there rocking of his hips, it is just like the piston movements as if he is banging her from behind.
The pressure against her was insistent, undeniable. A fresh wave of heat, shocking in its intensity, flooded her. It started again…? It started so soon…? I am still sensitive down there. Her body, still humming from its earlier release, responded with traitorous speed.
Moisture gathered between her legs, a stark contrast to the dry, dusty air of the bus. He pressed closer, his erection a firm brand against her. One of his hands left the railing and drifted down, his fingers skimming the outside of her thigh through the silk of her saree.
The touch was feather light, accidental to anyone watching. But to Kamini, it was a bolt of lightning. She squeezed her thighs together, a silent plea for control. It only increased the delicious friction.
The bus bounced over a pothole, jostling everyone. He stumbled forward, and his hand slapped against her stomach, splaying across her abdomen, pulling her back against him.
The groan that escaped him was soft, lost in the rumble of the diesel engine, but she felt it vibrate through his chest and into her back. His fingers curled, just slightly, dipping beneath the waistband of her Lehenga.
His thumb stroked a slow, hidden circle on the bare skin of her lower stomach. Nnfff… She bit her lip hard, the taste of copper blooming in her mouth. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her eyes closed.
She was grateful for the press of the crowd. It held her upright. His other hand joined the first, both now slipping lower, past the waistband, into the secret, humid space between her saree and her skin.
His fingertips traced the top of her pubic mound, teasing the coarse curls there. She stopped breathing. He wouldn't. Not here. Not with all these people. But he did. His hand slid down, down, until his fingers found her soaked, swollen folds.
Originally she thought that he would be a molester like before that would squeeze her melons and pinch her cherries. But it is different and he is going down after noticing the pins she put on her saree that can hold it firmly even if his hand went below.
A choked, guttural sound came from him. He buried his face in the scarf of her saree at her shoulder, his hot breath puffing against her neck. One finger, then two, slipped inside her with an ease that was utterly shameless. Squelsh…
The sound was muffled by the noise of the bus and the crowd, but to Kamini, it was deafening. He began to bang her with his fingers, his pace slow and deep, matching the rocking motion of the bus.
His palm cupped her, his thumb finding her clit with an unerring accuracy that made her legs nearly give out. She was trapped, trapped between the strangers in front of her and the stranger teasing her from behind and she was melting, a silent, willing prisoner.
It is not like she did not expect this. The system told her that she would get a surprise. But she did not expect that it is this kind of surprise. She felt more and more aroused and more and more sensitive all over her body. She felt like she would slump down.
But the big man behind her held her just enough for her to not to slump down because of her legs went limp from the pleasure. He supported her and also played with her at the same time giving her strong pleasure.
Her inner muscles fluttered around his intruding fingers, welcoming the invasion. She pushed back against him, a tiny, desperate movement, begging for more. Her own hands were clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms.
He pressed deeper, curling his fingers. There….Right there…. A moan built in her throat, a rising tide of pleasure she had to choke back. It came out as a strained, shuddering sigh. She could feel the eyes of an old woman seated nearby on her, curious.
Kamini forced a smile, a weak, trembling thing and looked out the grimy window, pretending nothing was happening while a stranger's hand worked her into frenzy of pleasure. His thrusts became faster, more urgent.
He was grinding himself against her backside, his own pleasure evident in the ragged rhythm. She could feel the dampness coating her inner thighs, the sheer obscenity of it.
The coil, so recently spent, was winding tight again, fed by the danger, the public humiliation and the expert touch of an anonymous man. The bus driver announced her stop. The voice over the crackling interceptor was a distant echo.
Her body was thrumming, poised on the very brink. The bus began to slow. The man behind her gave one last, deep thrust of his fingers, a final, circular grind of his thumb. Kamini's vision speckled.
Her entire body went rigid as a silent, powerful climax seized her and wracked her with tremors she fought with every ounce of her will to keep internal. Her passage clenched rhythmically around his fingers, a desperate, pulsing massage.
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