The Fever

The bus lurched forward, groaning under the weight of its passengers, mostly men. I gripped the cold metal pole, my knuckles white. A hot summer night, the air was heavy, but the real fire came from within.

A simmering warmth spread under my skin, rising up my neck like a tide. In my core, a restless energy coiled, tightening in my lower belly. This wasn't just warmth--it was something deeper, primal. Something inside me was shifting, awakening.

I'd heard the stories, whispered in hushed tones by older girls. The Fever. That primal, all-consuming biological surge that turned girls into--

My skin tingled, my breath came in short gasps, and I knew this wasn't just some hormonal mood swing. This was it.

The air around me seemed to thicken further, charged with an energy I didn't fully understand. Something in me had changed, and they sensed it. The men stirred, their movements slight but deliberate, like predators catching a scent on the wind. A ripple of awareness spread through the confined space, and suddenly, every gaze seemed to land on me.

A man with broad shoulders and an easy confidence radiating from him, stepped closer. He smelled like clean soap and musk, and through my embarrassment, there was a tiny flicker of something... relief?

"It's happening." His voice was steady, almost matter-of-fact. "You can feel it, can't you?"

Panic tried to take hold, but the his calm settled me. His hand brushed my shoulder, light but deliberate, and I noticed his eyes flick to my breasts, the way my nipples tightened against the fabric. They suddenly became sensitive. I couldn't help the small moan that escaped me.

It's okay," he said, voice gruff but tone gentle. "This is what I've been trained for. Breathe." His words carried a calm certainty, a reminder of the unspoken roles at play here. In a society where the Fever was inevitable, many men were chosen and trained--guided through instincts, biology, restraint--to help women through their most vulnerable moments.

As I was processing his words, another man, younger, all nervous energy and hungry eyes, leaned in from my side. He didn't speak, didn't ask. He just reached out and, before I could protest, began rubbing my left nipple through my thin t-shirt. Braless, the shocking sensation sent a wave of liquid heat through me. My vision swam.

His lifted my shirt and his mouth, hot and wet, latched on to my nipple, taut and peaked. The feel of his saliva was new and raw, and the sensations pulsed between my breasts and inside my core, a heavy, insistent ache. The first man, the confident one, steered me towards the back of the bus. The man latched to my breast didnt let go, holding firm he moved with us, each pull growing more intense, drawing deeper, sharper shivers cascading through me.

"Let's get her comfortable," the first man said. He and another, younger man, moved the few passengers that were seated in the very back to the front of the bus while the other man continued his relentless assault on my breasts. Occasionally capturing both nipples at once and sucking hard, the dual pressure coaxing involuntary whimpers of pleasure from my lips, leaving me breatlhless and raw with sensitivity.

They pulled me onto the seats, and I felt my legs giving way beneath me.

The first man kneeled in front of me, and without any hesitation, reached for me, his fingers suddenly under my shorts, slipping around in my wetness. I cried out, a mixture of protest and longing. "Relax, sweetheart." I could feel him touching, spreading me open, his fingers slipping around, sliding over my nub, teasing me, and the other man still suckling my firm and increasingly unyielding nipples. The sensations were piling on, relentless. I gasped, my head thrown back.

Then, out of nowhere, was another man. Youth still clinging to him like a second skin. His lean frame caught somewhere between boyish awkwardness and the promise of strength, and he lingered at the edge of the scene, his interest--and hard on--obvious, unsure of his place.

The first man, older and rough-hewn with sharp cheekbones and a scruff-lined jaw, glanced back at him. His eyes, piercing and steady, carried a quiet authority as he jerked his chin in a nod. Recognizing the youthful interest and taking it upon himself to nurture young curiosity, he said, "don't just stand there. Get over here. Its your duty to learn this."

The man-boy's eyes widened, but he stepped forward. He hesitated for a moment before gently, almost reverently, taking my other nipple into his mouth. He sucked with far less skill than the first man, but his enthusiastic eagerness and awe at finding himself in this situation was another layer of sensation that sent me spiraling. He looked up at the older men and when the first man nodded, he began sucking harder, with less abandon, making soft noises, then moved his hands to my thighs, rubbing up and down, his touch shaky and inexperienced, but another point of contact that I desperately needed. I moaned, my body writhing. Every touch, every suck, each point of contact was building into a single, overwhelming rhythm. The hands at my center became more insistent. As his fingers entered me, the rhythm had been slow at first, each movement intentional, a conversation between his fingertips and my flesh, a dance of give and take. Then, he began varying the pressure, the tempo, exploring every nerve, every delicate ridge and crevice. Going in and out, in and out of me, hard and fast, pushing me to the brink.

I could barely keep track of who was where. The first man was still there, guiding the others. I think it was he who began to fuck me, removing the boy's fingers and replacing them with his thick, throbbing cock. Slow and steady at first, then with a growing intensity that matched the heat building in my body. The nipple suckers never stopped, their mouths working in a frantic contest. The combination was driving me mad.

The sensation was so deep, his repeated thrusts matching my own internal rhythm. The tension kept coiling tighter, tighter, until I finally shattered, a cry ripping from my throat as my body spasmed, convulsing. The bus seemed to blur around me, then slowly came back into focus.

The release was incredible, but the Fever still hadnt broke. I felt them, the men, still there, still working, still giving, continuing the rhythmic suckling and thrusting. My body trembled as they filled me. The younger one entered me and began to move, his hips thrusting in time with my own. I was certain he could feel my muscles clenching and unclenching around him, milking his cock, pulling it deeper until he couldn't last any longer, exploding inside me. The sensation of his young, hot cum bursting into me, ontop of everything else, sent me over the edge once more.

I was no longer a human, I was an animal. The waves of pleasure crashed over me again and again.

Until the Fever began fading with each orgasm.

When it was over, when the last shudders had passed through me, the bus was quiet. The men weren't gone, but they were giving me space. The confident man offered me a water bottle, his eyes concerned but filled with satisfaction. He'd known what to do, how to help. And now my Fever, with all its chaotic, overwhelming intensity, had finally broken.

I was left spent, sated, and utterly bewildered at what had just occurred. This was the reality of experiencing the Fever, and I had just faced it head-on, on a public bus, with a group of men who knew exactly what they were doing, their bodies and instincts attuned to my own primal needs.