New York or Bust

Taking the bus to New York wasn’t my favorite method of travel, but expenses were tight and we were determined to make the most of the trip. The bus never seemed to settle and coast. Every bump was exaggerated by the air suspension, which took out the hard jolts and replaced them with ever constant bouncing.

Melanie didn’t seem to have any problem with it. She was fast asleep against the window, nestled up in a v-neck cardigan and using her purse as a pillow. Her earbuds were in, listening to some acoustic rock playlist no doubt.

But while her brown eyes were fast asleep, mine were wide open. The bouncing was getting worse. Or maybe it wasn’t – just the coke I had before we boarded starting to work its way through my system. What was initially just uncomfortable and annoying turned into consistent little aches in my bladder. Only they weren’t little anymore. I shifted, then shifted again, undoing the belt in my jeans to try and make myself comfortable. Nothing helped.

The fullness was growing, and we had at least another hour before our rest stop. I sighed and leaned to look behind my seat. The bathroom was occupied. Melanie opened her eyes and gave me a strange look, her silent face saying “Why can’t you sit still?” I mouthed “Bathroom,” to which she nodded and went back against the window.

Finally the door opened, and I got up to walk back to the bus. The bumps were much worse standing, the discomfort turning into throbbing bursts of pain. Step by step I made my way back. The bus lurched and I grabbed the nearest headrest. A quick jet of fluid escaped me. It was a wonderful, brilliant release, followed by a quick stabbing pain as I cut the flow. A teen girl pulled back her hoodie to look at me. “Sorry,” I muttered as I continued my way to the back of the bus.

I could feel the warmth in my boxers, the pleasantness clinging to my privates. How visible was it? Getting to the restroom, I saw caution tape over the the toilet. Shit. I still went in and closed the door. The front of my jeans felt damp, but nothing too visible. I took off my undershirt, leaving myself in a green button-up with just skin underneath. Using it to pat myself dry, I pulled my jeans down and then my boxers, buying whatever breathing room I could before returning to my seat.

Sitting down was painful, and the brief release made everything worse. Melanie glared at me again, this time pulling out her earbuds. “Now what?”

I sighed as I said, “Out of order.” She smirked, a combination of co-misery and delight in my self induced misfortune. As I continued to shuffle she looked at my wet crotch and realized the severity of the situation.

She shuffled a bit herself, unbuttoning and unzipping her white pants. I could see red lace and the top of the word “PINK” in white lettering, which became more apparent as she shimmied her pants down a few inches. She slouched and let her legs part.

“What are you doing?” I asked, hesitant to complain as it might discourage her behavior. We had done a little handsy stuff before, but certainly not like this. My eyes were locked on their red target, which Melanie covered by laying her cardigan across her lap. I looked up in her eyes.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” she said as she took my right hand and slid it under the jacket and straight down her pants. Damn! So smooth. My hand traced over the lace, drinking in the ink of the printing. I was at full attention, my mast lifting the sail of my jeans which I quickly covered up with my undershirt.

Melanie grinned at the expression on my face. She leaned back against the window. Curling her head against her hands caused her left arm pushed her breasts up, providing a delightful view to compliment the seams my fingers were exploring. Noticing my eyes, she pushed her arm up further, causing her nipples to slip out of the cups of her bra and press against her white camisole.

“Keep yourself entertained,” she said as she popped her earbuds back in. The straining in my bladder was matched by the straining against my jeans. I awkwardly unfastened my jeans with one hand, providing myself relief from at least one form of pressure. My penis eagerly poked out, which I kept covered with my undershirt.

Then I started exploring.

I felt a patch of hair poking out of the lace. I felt the sides of her thong, the elastic that ran right beside her love box and down between her cheeks. Felt the space in between, where the hair stopped and warm, moist lace begin. I pressed briefly between her lips. There was no reaction from Melanie’s face, no betrayal in her breath, but her warm folds eagerly sucked in her thong. My fingers traced the trimmed hairs on either side, then my hand slid underneath the fabric.

Feeling the lace on the back of my hand was exotic, as was feeling her most sensitive skin. Her lips were wide open and eager, inner and outer. Melanie’s lips quivered just a moment as I began rolling her clit over with my fingers, but that was the only betrayal to her calm demeanor.

One pain had been replaced by another. My cock was eager for any kind of release, and even with the undershirt covering the strain was becoming obvious. I covered with my left hand as well, gently squeezing myself through the shirt. Being filled with excitement and the rush of pleasuring my girl in public made peeing impossible, but it did little to relieve the pressure. The bumps of the bus were each filled with a mixture of pain and pleasure. God I needed to fuck, and fucking relieve my bladder.

Melanie’s phone started ringing.

She looked at it, then answered. What? How could she talk to someone with my hand down her panties?

“Hi Sophie! How are you?” She was so casual! I’ll make her pay for that. I slid a finger down inside her. Her mouth opened briefly, but her composure came back almost immediately.

“Oh, on my way to New York with Carter,” she looked me in the eyes, a sly look across her face. “Doing my best to keep him distracted.”

I’ll show her! I slid my fingers out, then slammed them back in. Then again. She arched her hips into my fingers, rocking them with my hand. “Tell me Sophie, do you remember the name of that guy I went home with last semester? The one with the ears?” The fuck? We weren’t exactly exclusive then, but we had been taking it slow. What had she done with this guy?!

​

“Yeah. Did I ever tell you what happened?” Melanie slid her finger in her mouth and then out, letting the tip of her finger linger on her tongue. Did she blow him?! “Oh no, I told him he could stick it anywhere he wanted. Guess where he picked?” My hand froze. Deep in her increasingly wet box. I couldn’t think. But I had to know.

“Ha! Yeah I know, right? It always sounds like fun too, but man is it hard to sit the next day!” Oh, it will be hard for her to sit alright. I slid my fingers out, then lower, straight to her ass. Her mischievous face only brightened, like I was doing exactly what she wanted. She pulled her feet up on the seat, causing her pants to slide down further and giving me the perfect angle. I tried forcing my finger in but she was clamped tight.

“Of course, at least for that part. It gets loose after a while though, and he went back to the front.” She winked at me, and the resistance was gone. My middle finger slid right in and up her backside. Fuck! I was finger fucking her ass, my thumb bracing itself in her folds. Her own resistance was starting to break down. Melanie’s breathing picked up, although whether due to her current situation, mine, or her reliving this fling was hard to say.

“No no, I made him take it off.” Take what off? “Yeah, it was immediate, maybe on the second thrust.” For everything I was feeling and experiencing right then, it was her smug look that did it. That look that said that she knew exactly what she was doing, exactly what she did. I started throbbing and came, filling my undershirt with pulse after pulse of cum. Melanie was so fucking pleased with herself.

“Here talk to Carter for a sec, I need to finish something.” She handed me the phone, then immediately thrust her hand down her panties under mine. I could feel her fingers go to work on herself, and they knew exactly what she liked.

“Uh..Sophie?” I was in no condition to talk, trying to juggle my feelings with the creamy destruction of my undershirt. “Hello?”

There was no answer. I looked at the phone and it read: one missed call. Melanie saw the look on my face and I could see her tense up, feel her fingers drilling herself to orgasm. Man, New York was going to be fun.

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/g9syu3/new_york_or_bust