Sassy was a lone traveller with a talent for making friends really quickly.
I was backpacking across Europe one summer, and had just boarded the 01.30 to Zagreb coming up from Dubrovnik. I was sorry to be leaving the sea, but looking forward to seeing friends in Zagreb before returning to London.
I’d decided to travel by coach for one simple reason. I’d discovered that if I positioned my bum just right while on a bus, I could orgasm with no stimulation but the vibration of the engine, a feat I couldn’t quite manage on any other mode of transport, though I had tried.
The delectable thrumming beneath my pussy was just beginning to work its magic when I felt a hand on the back of my armrest. A man in the seat behind sighed deeply as if in sleep and slid his arm farther up, between my arm and my body. I could have pushed him away, but his closeness was intriguing.
His head now rested against the corner of my seat, close enough so I could hear his breath. He was awake. I struggled to keep my own breathing slow and even, feeling an almost imperceptible touch close to my ribs. There he paused, perhaps for courage, then his hand migrated upward, fingers curving furtively to cup my breast. I feigned a sleepy sigh and squirmed closer, allowing him easier access. Brazenly he raked a thumb over my swollen nipple, which was already transmitting seismic tremors to my c**t. I reached beneath my T-shirt and tugged at the clasp of my front-loader bra, releasing the full weight of my breasts for playtime. Then I took the initiative, guiding my admirer’s hand and sliding it under my T-shirt until we were feeling me up together.
He drew away suddenly, there was a slight shuffling accompanied by a rush of pheromones, and the seat next to me was occupied. I caught the flash of his eyes in the light of a passing car as he shoved my T-shirt up, slumped in the seat and began to nurse, taking each of my tits in turn. Then he grabbed my hand and guided it to his desperately straining bulge, holding me hard against him, as he tongued tight circles around my impressionable areole. He opened my zipper, feeling his way adroitly inside my knickers and sliding eager fingers between the slick folds and valleys of my c**t, spreading liquid heat over my clit with experienced stroking. What were the odds of encountering a man on the night bus who knew how to work the joy spot?
I cupped taut balls that felt heavy and full before he guided my wandering hand back to his thick erection. He tightened my grip with his own until the pressure was just what he needed, until my knuckles ached from the squeeze. I opened my legs as far as space would allow, sliding down low, wriggling off my jeans until I could feel cool night air against my engorged pussy as I rammed myself repeatedly against the wet dance of his fingers. Just as my orgasm exploded with an intensity I’m sure must have rocked the whole coach, he grunted and convulsed. Warm viscous semen flooded my hand and spurted the back of the seat in front of us.
We drifted in a semi-comatose afterglow for what seemed aeons, but surely was only minutes, before he licked the juice from his fingers as though I was his favourite flavour. We’d only just got cleaned up and tucked back into our clothes when the bus pulled to a stop at some unnamed village. He stood slowly and grabbed a rucksack from the rack above. As he turned to go, he dropped a warm kiss on my cheek and left.
Just before I drifted off to sated sleep, I found myself wondering if I could trade in my plane ticket, if just maybe it were possible to take a coach from Zagreb to London.
