English · Lover
today
I adjusted the pleats of my green cotton skirt one last time in the small mirror of the roadside lodge in Kochi, my heart hammering. The skirt hugged my hips and fell just above my knees, modest enough for the woman-only bus but short enough to feel thrilling against my smooth, shaved legs. Above it, my white knotted blouse was tied tightly under my chest, the ends forming a teasing knot that left a strip of my midriff bare. The thin fabric clung to the padded bra I’d bought, creating soft, rounded breasts that jiggled slightly when I moved. My face was done up carefully—kohl-lined eyes, red lipstick, a touch of blush, and a delicate bindi on my forehead. Gold earrings dangled from my lobes, bangles chimed on my wrists, and the small silver nose ring in my left nostril caught the light every time I turned my head. I looked convincing enough as “Meera,” the shy young woman traveling alone through Kerala.
The afternoon sun beat down as I boarded the crowded bus to Alleppey. It was one of those old KSRTC ladies’ specials—women only, packed with aunties, office-goers, college girls, and market vendors. The air inside was thick with the scent of coconut oil, jasmine flowers, and sweat. I managed to get the seat right behind the driver, a narrow spot that gave me a view of the road and kept me somewhat shielded by the driver’s cabin. The bus lurched forward, already full. Women stood shoulder to shoulder in the aisle, sarees and salwar kameez brushing against each other.
A few stops later, she got on. She looked to be in her early forties, a voluptuous Malayali woman with a deep complexion, wearing a simple maroon saree that accentuated her wide hips and heavy breasts. Her pallu was slightly slipped, revealing the deep cleavage of her blouse. Sweat glistened on her neck and collarbone. The bus was so packed that even standing space was rare. She glanced around, her eyes landing on me. I shifted nervously, my skirt riding up my thighs a little as I pressed my knees together.
“Excuse me, molu,” she said in a husky, tired voice, using the affectionate term for daughter. “Can I sit here for a bit? My legs are killing me.”
Before I could reply, the bus swerved around a curve and she simply lowered herself onto my lap, her soft, heavy bottom pressing down firmly on my thighs and groin. I gasped quietly. Her weight was substantial, warm, and real. The thin fabric of my skirt and her saree did little to separate us. I could feel the heat of her body immediately, the way her buttocks settled and spread slightly over me.
“Sorry, dear,” she murmured, adjusting herself with a small wiggle that sent a jolt straight through me. “It’s so crowded today.” Her voice was low, almost intimate, as she leaned back a little, her back pressing against my knotted blouse. The knot of my blouse brushed against her saree-covered back.
The bus rumbled on. I tried to stay still, but every pothole and turn made her shift on my lap. Her fleshy thighs spilled over mine. I could smell the faint talcum powder and sweat on her skin, mixed with the jasmine in her hair. My hands rested awkwardly on the seat edges, but the motion kept pushing her weight more firmly onto my growing arousal. Under the skirt, my cock was hardening despite my efforts to control it, trapped between her soft ass cheeks through the layers of cloth.
She didn’t seem to notice at first. Or so I thought. After ten minutes, she turned her head slightly, her lips close to my ear. “You’re so soft, molu,” she whispered. “And warm.” One of her hands casually dropped to my knee, as if steadying herself. Her fingers traced small circles on my bare skin just below the hem of my skirt. My breath hitched. The pre-sexual tension built slowly—the subtle rocking of the bus, her deliberate little shifts that ground her ass against my now fully hard cock, the way her heavy breasts rose and fell with each breath.
I could feel her noticing. She pressed down harder during a sharp brake, letting out a soft sigh that sounded almost like a moan. “Mmm… the road is bad today,” she said innocently, but her hips rolled in a slow circle, rubbing directly over my erection. The friction through the thin skirt and her saree was maddening. My nipples hardened under the padded bra, brushing against the knotted blouse.
Her hand slid higher under the pretext of adjusting her pallu, fingers brushing the inside of my thigh. The other women around us were lost in their own conversations or dozing, the bus’s noise covering everything. She leaned back fully now, her head resting against my shoulder, her thick black hair tickling my neck. “You smell nice,” she breathed. “Like a girl… but something else too.”
I was trembling. My cock throbbed painfully, leaking pre-cum into my panties under the skirt. She must have felt it. Her ass clenched and relaxed, massaging me in rhythm with the bus’s motion. The erotic journey had truly begun.
After another stretch of winding roads, she turned her face toward me again. “Shift a little, dear. Let me get comfortable.” She lifted her hips just enough to tug her saree and petticoat higher, then settled back down. This time, there was much less fabric between us. I felt the bare heat of her inner thighs and the dampness of her panties pressing directly against my skirt-covered bulge.
Her hand disappeared between us. I bit my lip as her fingers found the hem of my skirt and slipped underneath, tracing up my smooth thigh until she cupped my hard cock through the thin panties. “Oh… what’s this?” she whispered, her voice thick with surprise and arousal. She squeezed gently, stroking the length of my shaft. “A secret little girl, hmm?”
I whimpered softly, my hips bucking up instinctively. She stroked me slowly, her palm rubbing the wet spot on my panties while her ass continued its subtle grinding. The bus hit a series of bumps, and each jolt made her fingers press firmer, milking more pre-cum out of me.
Emboldened, she pulled my skirt higher in the confined space, her thick fingers wrapping fully around my cock after tugging the panties aside. She began pumping me with slow, deliberate strokes, her thumb swirling over the sensitive head. Her own breathing grew heavier. I could feel her nipples stiffen against her blouse as she pressed her back into me.
“Touch me,” she whispered urgently. My hands finally moved, sliding under her pallu to cup her heavy breasts. They were full and soft, spilling out of her tight blouse. I squeezed them, pinching her nipples through the fabric as she stroked me faster. The woman in the seat beside us was asleep; no one noticed.
She shifted again, pulling her panties to the side. The head of my cock brushed against her wet, hairy pussy lips. With a soft moan disguised as a cough, she lowered herself, taking me inside her in one smooth motion. Her warm, velvety cunt engulfed me completely, tight and soaking. She sat still for a moment, adjusting, her walls clenching around my shaft.
Then the real ride began. The bus’s movement did most of the work—every bump and sway made her bounce on my cock. She rode me slowly at first, grinding in circles, her juices dripping down my balls and soaking my skirt. I thrust up gently, meeting her, my hands roaming under her saree to grip her wide hips. Her big ass jiggled with each motion, the sound of our joining muffled by the bus noise.
She reached back, grabbing my hand and guiding it to her clit. I rubbed the swollen nub as she fucked me harder, her breathing ragged. “Faster, molu… make me cum,” she hissed. I pinched her clit lightly, feeling her pussy spasm around me. Her orgasm hit suddenly—she froze, trembling, her cunt milking my cock in powerful contractions as she came hard, biting her own pallu to stay quiet.
The sensation pushed me over the edge. With a muffled groan, I thrust deep and exploded inside her, pumping thick ropes of cum into her mature pussy. She stayed seated on me, my softening cock still buried inside as we both panted, the bus continuing its journey through the lush Kerala backwaters.
She eventually lifted off, adjusting her saree with a satisfied smile. A trickle of our mixed juices ran down her thigh. She leaned close one last time. “Good girl,” she whispered, patting my cheek. “Next stop, maybe we continue this in the ladies’ waiting room…”
The rest of the ride was a haze of lingering arousal, my soaked skirt a secret reminder of the explicit encounter on that crowded woman-only bus.
