I am 26, working in a private firm in Bangalore. That weekend, I had come down to Coimbatore to attend a friend’s engagement. After the function, I decided to return to Bangalore the same night. I hadn’t booked any bus in advance. Just went straight to the bus stand, hoping to catch whatever I could find till Salem, and figure the rest of the journey from there. Luckily, I managed to get a last-minute seat in a private travel’s bus. It looked like an ordinary ride, but I had no idea how unforgettable this trip was going to be.
It was nearly midnight when the bus pulled out of Coimbatore. The inside lights dimmed, the engine settled into a steady hum, and outside, the city dissolved into long stretches of dark highway.
I was on the aisle seat of a three-seater. Next to me, a young couple. She sat by the window, and he was in the middle. College kids, probably. Early twenties. They looked close, hands brushing often, occasional whispers, and shy smiles.
She was small, dusky, and beautiful. Her maroon kurti clung to her body just enough to hint at the curves beneath. A long dupatta lay across her chest, folded in perfect middle-class modesty.
But once the lights dimmed, the real story began.
I closed my eyes and slumped back, pretending to sleep. It wasn’t long before I heard the soft rustle of movement.
His hand, at first, rested gently on her thigh. She didn’t move it away.
I peeked.
He ran his fingers in slow circles over the outside of her leg, lightly teasing. She responded with a subtle shift of her hips. His hand crept upward, over her hip, brushing against her stomach through the fabric.
He leaned in, nuzzling the side of her neck. I saw his lips move near her ear. She giggled softly, breath catching. Her hand gripped his knee briefly.
Then his hand went under her dupatta.
He wasn’t rushing. He slid it up, slowly, as if respecting its cover while fully violating the space beneath. His palm was now on her belly, fingers drawing idle shapes over her navel. Then up toward the underside of her breast. She took a sharp breath.
“Mmm… haan…”
She bit her lip.
The dupatta still covered everything visually, but beneath it, her body was being explored.
His fingers curled upward and cupped her breast. I could see the motion clearly now. Her chest moved slightly with his squeeze. Her shoulders tensed, her head tilted back.
Her kurti was thin; her nipples clearly hardened underneath. I could see the shape when she shifted, as his fingers teased them through the fabric.
Then his hand dropped again. Down her belly. Slow. Measured. To her inner thigh.
Her legs were tight together at first. He rubbed along the outside of her thighs, then gently wedged his fingers between her legs. She resisted for a second, then let them part.
He reached between them. She exhaled.
“Uhhhhnn…”
I watched his hand settle right between her thighs, rubbing her crotch through the fabric of her leggings. His fingers worked in slow, firm circles. She grabbed the seat edge with one hand, the other covering her mouth.
Even from where I sat, I could see the subtle thrust of her hips against his hand.
The bus rocked softly. No one stirred.
He slid his hand deeper, adjusting the waistband, and I realized: he’d gone inside.
His fingers were under her leggings now.
Her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted as his fingers moved along her slit, rubbing the wet fabric of her panties or maybe he was already past them too. She squirmed against the window.
“Ohhh… baby… fuck…” she whispered, barely audible.
The dupatta shifted as her body twitched. It was still covering her, but I could now see her stomach, the slope of her hips. His wrist was buried deep between her legs.
He was fingering her slowly.
Her breath turned shallow, quick. Her thighs tensed and released in rhythm. I could hear the soft, wet sound from inside her leggings; subtle but real.
“Schhlp… schlk… mmmhh…”
Then he pulled his hand up again; wet fingers sliding over her stomach. He moved higher.
With the grace of someone who knew her body well, he pulled the dupatta loose from her chest, just enough to free one breast underneath her kurti.
Then he lifted the kurti and sucked it into his mouth.
Her breast was finally visible. It had a dark nipple that was stiff and swollen. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly as he kissed, licked, and sucked.
“Aahh… baby, not so hard…” she whimpered, even as her hand pulled his head closer.
He was devouring her. His tongue swirled around her areola, then flicked her nipple fast. She gasped. Then he sucked deep, strong, pulling at her tit until it glistened in the dim bus light.
She squirmed in her seat, and her hand shot between her own legs, rubbing herself while he licked her breast.
Slrrp… schhkk…
“Mmmm… aah… don’t stop…”
My cock was leaking precum. I was frozen, painfully aroused, trying not to breathe too fast. My jeans was tight, my fists clenched.
And still she kept moaning, still low, but no longer careful.
He switched breasts, lifted the kurti fully now. Both breasts were bare, her nipples standing hard and flushed. He sucked them both, moving back and forth.
She was panting now. Lost in sensation. And then. Thump. The bus slowed. The lights flicked on dimly.
A voice from the front:
“Ten-minute break! Coffee toilet stop!”
Around us, passengers stirred, yawning, blinking.
He quickly pulled her kurti back down. She adjusted her dupatta and sat up straight, flushed but composed. He looked smug, like a man who’d just been inside his girl’s pussy without ever leaving the seat.
I straightened too, pretending to wake up, adjusting my crotch discreetly.
She didn’t meet my eye. But I could see the blush in her cheeks. And the wet spot on her leggings, still fresh between her thighs.