Groped Good

I walked to the Greyhound bus station and got on the first bus to Colorado. There were only a couple of other people on the bus. I found an empty row in the back, pulled a blanket over me, and closed my eyes. As the Greyhound rumbled towards Interstate 15 East, I fell asleep wondering which of the Bear Creek boys had turned into men.

I don't know how long I slept, but I woke up feeling someone's hand on my leg.

His hand was under the blanket, resting lightly on my leg, and I knew it wasn't an accident. The bus hadn't stopped to pick up any passengers. This guy must have changed seats so that he could grope a sleeping girl—me.

His hand didn't move, and I stayed still, waiting to see what he would do next.

His fingers opened and closed lightly over my leg, like caressing a baby's bottom. Then he stopped for a while.

After a few moments, he gently squeezed my leg again. His touch was so light that I could barely feel it. He was testing me, trying to see what he could get away with without waking me. Wondering if I was going to yell, "Hey mister, keep your hands to yourself!"

I kept on pretending to be asleep, because I wanted to see what he would do next. And, to tell the truth, because I was getting goosebumps and could feel the tingling starting between my legs.

He squeezed a little more firmly and waited to see my reaction. I kept real still, breathing regularly like I was asleep. His hand moved to the inside of my leg and his fingers danced across the soft inside of my thigh, like he was seeing how lightly he could touch me and still be touching me.

One finger moved in between my legs and rested on my mound, poised at the entrance to my growing dampness. His finger moved up and down slowly, never losing contact with my jeans. I was very wet but I didn't squirm. I didn't want to scare him away. I didn't want him to stop. I spread my legs so that I could feel more electricity.

He positioned his finger in the center of the opening to my flooded pussy and began pressing in and out like he was ringing a doorbell. And, in a sense, he was. I wanted to invite him inside, but I kept quiet.

All of a sudden, he stopped. After about a minute of nothing, I was afraid that he was finished—that he had decided that he didn't dare do anything more.

I was so frustrated and impatient that I wanted to push his hand away. But then he moved his hand off my leg and slowly, lightly up the inside of my t-shirt. He found my breast and rested his hand there, softly cupping my breast without moving, the way he had started with my leg.

I tried to imagine what he looked like. Maybe he was a 70-year-old gentleman dressed in a suit and tie, who thought it was his duty to initiate young women as they became comfortable with their sexuality. Or maybe he was a married man, handsome and full of spunk but stuck with a frigid wife, and he groped women on busses for cheap thrills. Or maybe he was a military guy with big muscles, who hadn't gotten laid for months, and he was taking the bus back home to see his girlfriend and was using me to get in the mood. I was dying to see who was feeling me up, but I couldn't. I loved the attention I was getting and I didn't want to break the spell. So, I kept pretending to be asleep.

My mystery guy moved his hand slowly, with only the palm of his hand touching my nipple. It popped right up as he swirled it around in lazy circles. His thumb found my nipple and flicked it up and down, sending jolts through my body with every flick.

Again he stopped, waiting to see if he had gone too far. To see if I would suddenly wake up and start screaming about being molested. I just kept pretending to be asleep, waiting to see what he would do next.

He cupped my breast and then he started squeezing the whole thing like he was testing its firmness. He squeezed harder and harder. He knew I was awake and that I wasn't going to scream—that I liked the attention he was giving me—but we kept up our little game, me pretending to be asleep and him pretending to be fondling a sleeping girl.

My breast was on fire and my juices were ready to leak through my panties.

He took my hard nipple between his thumb and finger and started rolling it, gently, then harder and harder until I wanted to cry out. Still I pretended to sleep and still he pretended that he was groping a girl who was sleeping so soundly that nothing could wake her.

After a few minutes of this, he moved his hand over to my other breast. I knew what was coming and my nipple popped up immediately. He grabbed it roughly with his thumb and finger and twisted and pulled this nipple even harder than he had punished my other nipple.

I lifted my arms slightly so that he could have more room to work. I was breathing hard now but still trying not to break the spell.

He kept up the assault on my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger and stretching it as far away from my chest as it would go. I think he was testing me, seeing if he could make me stop pretending to be asleep. Or maybe he knew how turned on I was and he was seeing if he could make me have an orgasm right there in the back of the bus.

I was real close.

He unbuttoned my jeans and slipped his hand inside my panties. He rubbed my bush slowly, but incessantly. I needed more. I slid my butt down the bus seat so he could get a better angle and he slipped his two middle fingers far inside me. I lifted my butt to swallow his fingers. He rubbed me wildly, fiercely, recklessly. This guy was a pro. He knew exactly what I wanted. I grabbed his other hand and bit his fingers to keep from yelling.

Then the bus pulled into a parking lot and the bus lights went on. Damn it!

My groper pulled his hand away and got up to leave.

I turned to see who had been feeling me up and finger fucking me so masterfully, and he was a she! It was a woman in her forties or fifties, kind of frumpy, with a lively eyes and a sweet smile. She said, "Take care, darling," and walked down the aisle, got off the bus, and disappeared.

I took her advice. As soon as the bus lights went out, I put my own hand inside my jeans and took care of business.