Bus Ride Reversal
The morning after our date, I rubbed my stiff neck as I trudged to the bus stop. My empty schoolbag dangled from my shoulder. Hungover and tired, but my heart felt lighter than ever.
After dinner last night, I'd worked tirelessly to coax out Moonbyeol's hidden feelings. I invoked my big-brother authority to pressure her, whispered gentle reassurances that it was okay. But she clamped her mouth shut to the end. My final card was booze. Nothing loosens tongues like alcohol, and our cabinet was stocked with expensive stuff. Even when she drank with friends, it was just soju or beer—she had no clue about the real kick of whiskey. She gulped it down eagerly, and eventually, the locks on her heart flew open.
My lips twitched into a smirk. "Cute little thing." Her final act—clinging to my waist, sobbing "Oppa, Oppa"—had been adorable beyond words. I didn't catch everything, but the towering wall between us had undeniably crumbled. Proof? She volunteered for morning dishes. Though demanding a massage as her "reward" meant she was hooked on those backrubs.
Lost in these thoughts at the bus stop, a bus pulled up. Not the direct one to school, but a detour that looped around for over twenty minutes. I boarded anyway. The driver eyed my uniform curiously, but that was it.
I tapped my card and slid into the back row. A couple stops later, with my eyes closed, I sensed movement beside me. Plenty of empty seats this early, yet whoever it was plopped right next to me, pressed close. As the bus lurched forward, slender fingers brushed my thigh.
A fleeting touch might've been an accident, but the fingers lingered—started caressing instead. Cautious, delicate, like she feared I'd wake. I cracked my eyes just enough to check.
The woman in the seat beside me wore a sharp black suit for her commute. Face blank, back ramrod straight, staring ahead. But up close: flushed cheeks, quickened breath. She was excited.
Not hard to get. Her target: a uniformed student. Caught, her life could shatter. High stakes, yet she didn't stop. She murmured softly, "J-just... a little more..."
Smoothly, her cool hand slipped under my loosened belt and pants. Boldly past my underwear, stroking my cock up and down. Her gaze locked on my crotch now, not the front. So even as I opened my eyes fully and stared, she kept going, oblivious.
I asked in a low voice, "Feel good?"
She snapped to, looked up, met my eyes. Her face drained white. "...Uh. Ah."
A short moan slipped from her parted lips. Eyes watering like she'd burst into tears imagining what came next. If I'd yelled "pervert," cops would've swarmed, cuffs on her wrists, straight to jail.
But I just tilted my head, silent, watching.
And... "Ahht!"
An unexpected moan burst from her. She clapped a hand over her mouth. Her gaze dropped to my hand stroking her thigh.
"Wh-what...!"
She knew better than to shout, kept her voice down. I grinned slyly, pressing my index and middle fingers into her inner thigh. Toned muscle from workouts, firm and springy.
"That's what I wanna know."
I glanced down. Her pale wrist halfway down my pants. Her hand still inside.
Realization hit; she yanked to pull out—but...
"Feels good, so why stop? Keep going."
I gripped her wrist with my free hand. Still smirking, I guided it. She hesitated, flustered, but followed—more than followed.
"Yeah. Slower now, bunch your fingertips tighter."
Her hand released my cock, tips gathered like a brush. Down from the top. Right from left. Circling the head, four fingers wrapping the shaft, thumb out. Delicate, soft—my cock twitched.
A light pleasure hit; I told her, "Good girl."
Her head must've been spinning with excitement. Jerking off a guy on a bus, wrist held, praised for it. No porn she'd seen had scenes this absurd.
And it didn't end there. My hand on her thigh was alien sensation—no man experience. I grazed my nail along her stocking, snagging a thread.
"Hngh...!"
A sharp tingle shot up her spine. She bit her lip to stifle a cry.
"Like it?"
Couldn't open her bitten lip, so she nodded silently.
I chuckled, chiding, "But hands don't stop."
She moved again, no lead needed—instinct now. Her hand caressed my cock tenderly. Bigger now, pulse and veins vivid under her touch.
"Yeah. Just like that. Doing great."
With that, my hand inched her skirt upward. Tough with her ass planted. I tapped her thigh wordlessly.
No words needed; she knew: adjust.
This was the fork. Refuse, I'd stop, no more risk—life-ruining if spotted.
But she'd regret quitting forever. Lifetime chance.
She leaned hard into the backrest, lifted her hips slightly.
"Good girl."
Ears red at my praise. Uniform said 5-6 years younger. Half-talk from a kid like me, plus praise? Unknown thrill.
"Hng...!"
Back of the bus, filthy secret meetup mid-ride. New passengers or driver glancing? Tightrope.
Recalling it soaked her panties. And she anticipated: my hand climbing, discovering the wetness—what reaction? Disgust? Pervert slur? Or like it? Maybe... lose virginity today? Fantasies spun wild.
Skirt fully hiked, panties exposed under stockings. But I only teased thighs.
Ticklish at first, now she panted, looked up pleading. "T-touch me."
"Can't hear you?"
She sighed softly. He heard, but played dumb. Till she said it right.
Shame twisted her free hand. "Please... touch me..."
Now my hand shifted—from thighs. But circled her panty edges, teasing more.
"Still can't hear?"
Eyes squeezed shut. She cried, "Touch Se-ah's pussy! Mmph...!"
Too loud—I clamped her mouth. Overexcited, volume control gone. Luck: others earbuds in or dozing, no stares.
Hand off, I toyed her earlobe softly. "Careless. But good job."
Thrill from praise? Earlobe? Indistinguishable.
"Good job means reward, right?"
I grinned, nails snagging the fabric. Rip—stockings tore right above her panties.