I don’t know what’s happening to me.

Public. Risky. Anonymous hands on me in the dark.
God, it felt so fucking good.
The scariest part? I’m not sure I want it to stop.
Who else is out there craving the same thing? 😈
5/5

He pulled his hand free—slow, almost reluctant—zipped me back up with one last teasing pat, and stood. I watched him walk down the aisle, tall frame cutting through the crowd.

Right before the doors closed, he glanced back, lifted his hand in a little wave, and hit me with the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen.
Then he was gone. And I was left throbbing, aching, soaked.

This was my second time this week.
The first one felt amazing. This one? This one left me desperate for more.
4/5

Skin on skin now. He wrapped around me—perfect pressure, thumb circling my slick head while the bus rocked us like we were the only two people alive.
Every slow stroke pulled a throb out of me. I bit my lip hard.

Hips twitching into his grip, I was gone. He stroked me so deliberately, teasing, squeezing, owning every inch while the city blurred past the windows.
I’ve never felt anything that risky… or that good.

Brakes hissed. His stop.
3/5

His touch got bolder with every sway of the bus. Fingertips tracing slow circles, inching higher. I kept my eyes half-closed, pretending to sleep, but my breath was already racing.
No one noticed. Or if they did… I didn’t care.

His hand slid between my legs, cupping me through the fabric, gently squeezing my growing hardness. I was getting so wet—hot little beads of precum soaking my boxers, making everything cling.
He noticed.

Fingers worked my waistband open just enough.
2/5