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He knew I was masturbating.
I was caught!
And before I could even turn away, he was out of his seat and slid into the one next to me. I actually yelped with surprise, not knowing what he was going to do. I made all the blatantly prejudiced evaluations one makes about strangers in times of crisis. I came up with the fact that he was a clean cut guy who read philosophy books, so I didn't think he would attack me. Instead of screaming, I just froze in shock and embarrassment.
"Don't stop." His voice was rich and urgent in my ear even as the waft of warm breath from his whisper caressed my neck. He smelled of some sort of clean cologne and his manly cheek pressed against mine.
My heart was in my throat, and I was so embarrassed I thought I could just shrink up and die in that seat. A lump rose in my throat. The pain of embarrassment was palpable, and I felt tears well up to sting my eyes. "Leave me alone!" The vehemence in my whisper should have driven him away. And for a moment—just for a moment—he looked like he might apologize for scaring me and return to his seat.
But then something seemed to snap in him. He grabbed my left hand, the one that wasn't inside my panties hidden beneath my coat, and gripped it so tightly that I yelped with pain.
Then he silenced my yelp by putting a finger over my lips.
Now I was more than embarrassed; I was afraid. Desperately afraid. I was terrified. I violently tried to yank my hand back from his, but impossibly—he kissed it. "Don't fight me."
That's what psychos and creepers always said. But then he put my fingers on his throat. I felt under my fingertips that his pulse was racing. I didn't expect that, and the moment was so surreal that I let my hand relax with surprise.
"Can you feel what you're doing to me?" he whispered. "You're a gorgeous girl and watching you is making me crazy. Crazy enough that I had to get a closer look. So don't stop."
My fingers on his pulse point combined with the kiss he'd given my hand confused my thoughts. I was also mortified. All I could whisper back was, "I'm sorry! Please leave me alone."
He shook his head. "Don't be sorry and don't stop." This time, it came out like a command, and he still had my hand tight in his grasp. "You don't want to stop," he added, as if I weren't humiliated enough.
Like a trapped animal with nowhere to run, I pressed my hot cheek against the glass of the window. The cool of the glass was a welcome relief to the heat of my face. It was as if I was burning up with fever. I squeezed my eyes shut as if that could make all of this go away.
"Leave me alone," I murmured again.
That's when he threw my coat off me and grabbed for my other hand—the one trapped in my panties. Without the cover of my coat, there was no hiding what I was doing now. My jeans were undone, and the panties beneath them seeming to glow white in the darkness.
He had both my arms in his grasp, but I didn't scream. I'll never know why.
I think it's because as afraid as I was, I was too aroused by him to struggle. Besides, he was so strong it wouldn't have mattered. He stared at me for a moment as if steeling his nerve then let my hand go and whispered, "Don't stop. And don't make me tell you again."
My mind reeled with various emotions. The nerve of him! Who the hell was he to tell me what to do, and to make it sound as if there were consequences to my not doing it? Was he a criminal? I was so frightened I couldn't obey him if I wanted to.
And some part of me, impossibly, did want to obey him. Wanted to do everything he said. Wanted to masturbate for a complete stranger on a bus, just because I could. The streetlights we passed would light up his intense and handsome face every so often, but I was in stasis, like a snake to a snake charmer, just staring at him in my abased condition.
"Do it," he urged. "Rub your pussy. Finger yourself. I want to watch you bring yourself off."
I felt more exposed than if I were naked before this stranger and I wanted to get away, but his voice was so enticing, his excitement was doubling my own. My mouth went dry. Then I could feel it. The lump forming in my throat. I was going to cry. I couldn't help it. "I can't," I whispered back, a tear flowing off the side of my cheek. I was barely able to force the words out over the lump of shame in my throat. "Someone will see!"
It was a bit too late for that, and he didn't accept my refusal. Instead, he pushed my hand back onto my stomach and then down, following my fingers into my panties. I felt his warm, urgent whisper rumble by my ear. "I won't let anyone else see you do it, but you have to do it for me," he said, and shifted in his seat so that his broad back blocked the aisle. "You want to put on a show for me, don't you, baby? Fuck yourself."
Oh, god. Had I agreed to this? Somehow I felt as if I had, but I didn't remember saying yes. Still, my whole body was screaming yes. It's not cheating, I told myself. Not to let someone watch. Not a stranger. I'll never see him again; no one will have to know.
In spite of everything, I was more excited now than before. And there the stranger was, watching, coaxing me with his hand over mine. If I just closed my eyes, it might get easier, and so I did. Then my fingers disappeared into the warm folds of my pussy and immediately found the throbbing nub of my clit. It felt so good to touch it now that I sucked in air through my teeth. I was going to come right away.
The stranger's voice came coaxingly from the dark. "Yes. That's it, you sweet little slut."
Slut. I couldn't deny it. I was masturbating on a bus for a stranger. He was watching me get myself off. I was turning him on, and I liked it. I liked it a lot. And though he must have known how embarrassing it was, he liked it, too. Maybe he liked it because he knew it was embarrassing me.
I rubbed small circles with my fingers and it made me crazy. My hips started to rock. And at the very moment I was too enraptured to stop, he took my free hand and put it on his cock. He was so rigid underneath his slacks that I couldn't help but grip it. I shouldn't have gripped it, but I did. I was too close. The extra arousal that having a hard cock in my hand made me buck my hips. Stroking a stranger's shaft in one hand and my own cunt with the other, the orgasm broke over me. My eyes rolled back. My hips jerked up three times. His cock jumped in my hand in tandem with my own jerking. I saw stars behind my eyelids as I strained to keep quiet, but I know my face scrunched with the effort, and I nearly drew blood biting my lip to hold back the scream.
That's when he leaned over and started kissing me. I knew it was wrong. I knew all of this was wrong. But that kiss kept me from screaming. And, it was also electric. He kissed differently than any guy I'd ever kissed before. His lips were firm and demanding and completely assured. And I knew I should stop him; I had a boyfriend. I shouldn't be kissing anyone, much less a stranger. But considering that I'd already stroked his cock and let him watch me masturbate, it seemed like a pointless technicality now...
In any case I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. He didn't let me. I was recovering from a mind-blowing orgasm and this man was devouring me in his
kiss. His hands went up under my shirt, and I didn't stop him. I didn't even stop him when his fingers slipped under my bra and his thumbs flicked at my nipples. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, and when he finally broke apart for a breath, I was shaking all over. I was letting this stranger kiss me and touch me, and I couldn't stop...
