The Overnight Volvo Stranger

It was a bitterly cold, torrential monsoon night in Bangalore as I travelled by an Uber to the Madiwala bus station to catch the overnight AC Volvo to Ooty. The heavy rain lashed against the windows, and the biting wind made the usually mild city feel freezing. Inside the luxury semi-sleeper bus, though, the blasting air-conditioning made it almost arctic, yet strangely cosy under the provided blankets.

I took off my damp windbreaker and shoved it onto the overhead luggage rack before settling down into my window seat. I smoothed down my short denim mini skirt over my almost see-through, seamless sheer pantyhose, hiding my white lace panties underneath. Knee-high socks and boots made sure I would be at least comfortable as we climbed into the freezing Nilgiri hills. If it got too warm later, I could always discard my thick woolen cardigan.

Slowly the bus filled up, and I began to think my luck was in, that I would have the luxury of two seats to myself. But at the very last minute, a tall, incredibly elegant-looking older South Indian man made his way down the narrow aisle and stopped right at my seat. He was well-spoken, urbane, with a whiff of a very appealing, rich sandalwood and musk cologne, and piercing dark eyes that were just a little faded with distinguished age. I took all of this in at once as he politely asked in a deep baritone if he might take the free seat.

"Of course, Sir," I answered, cursing under my breath as I felt my cheeks redden.

He gave me an enigmatic, knowing look, and I blushed even more as he gave my exposed, nylon-clad thighs the briefest, most intense of glances. Why is it that attractive older men always make me feel like a nervous little schoolgirl? I watched as he took off his wet jacket, leaning over me to stow it in the rack above my head. I was acutely aware of his broad chest, his masculine scent, and just how close his body was to mine.

And then we were on our way, trundling through the flooded city streets, eventually hitting the dark, winding Mysore highway. We made small talk about our destinations, weekend plans, and the terrible traffic, and half an hour flew past. He was engaging, a fantastic listener, and dangerously charming. And then the conductor switched off the interior cabin lights.

Acutely aware of the large, warm male body beside me, our thighs almost touching in the cramped space, I drifted off to sleep, the exhaustion of a long day finally pulling me under.

I don't recall exactly how long I slept, but I woke up with a dry mouth, realizing my head was resting heavily on the stranger's broad shoulder. He too seemed fast asleep, but glancing down, my heart skipped a beat. My skirt had ridden way, way up my thighs. From the faint amber glow of the highway streetlights slicing through the rain-streaked window, I could see that my sheer, pantyhose-covered pussy mound was practically showing to the world. I hastily took a panicked look around the dark bus and yanked my skirt down.

Surely he couldn't have done that, could he? Did he feel me up while I was knocked out? I mused to myself, my breath catching in my throat.

And then I glanced down at his lap and completely lost my breath. He had a massive, prominent bulge straining against the fabric of his dark trousers, and it was visibly twitching. Oh my god, he's rock hard. Has he been touching me? My breasts involuntarily tightened, my nipples stirring and hardening instantly inside my bra cups.

He shifted slightly in his sleep. Driven by a sudden, wicked rush of adrenaline, I just couldn't resist the temptation. I subtly eased my bare leg against his trousers, giving myself such a rush of pure slutty thrill, and he stirred again. Hardly daring to breathe, I dropped my trembling hand down onto his firm thigh and lightly, delicately stroked it.

He half-turned toward me, spreading his strong legs slightly, and I instantly felt my white panties grow damp with fresh arousal. I looked furtively around the dark cabin. Most people were dead asleep, snoring softly under their blankets. The only sound was the heavy rumble of the Volvo engine and the relentless whump-whump of the windshield wipers fighting off the torrential monsoon rain.

I inched my shaking fingers higher up his thigh until the back of my hand brushed against his thick, semi-tumescent cock trapped down his leg. The sheer heat radiating from his groin was intoxicating. I felt faint, and in a cold sweat of sudden panic, I jerked my hand away. My fingers were visibly trembling. What on earth am I doing? I'm on a public bus! The mere thought of wrapping my hand around his hot, throbbing cock had made my pussy clench and ache for a fuck.

I came to my senses, terrified by the thought of the shame, the humiliation, and worse, what would happen if the strict South Indian aunties and uncles around us caught me molesting a sleeping man. He muttered something low in his sleep, and I hastily turned my face away toward the freezing glass, my heart beating so fast I thought it would burst, overwhelmed with a sickening mix of raw lust and deep frustration.

Had I got it all wrong? Maybe he wasn't complicit in this at all. Maybe it was all my fevered imagination and I had just touched him up like a total creep! I lay back silently for what seemed like an age, trying to calm my racing pulse, and again began to drift into a restless doze.

And then... I felt a large, warm hand on my lower back, running tentatively across the bare skin just above the waistband of my skirt. I shifted suddenly, fully awake, every nerve ending on fire, but I did not move away. The hand came back. This time, it was bolder, insolently more demanding, tracing the smooth, sensitive skin of my waist.

His warm, thick fingers began to trail sensuously across my spine. I tingled all over, finding it incredibly hard to even draw a breath. I shifted again, turning my back entirely towards him, but I was now pressed flat against the side of the bus and could go no further. It gave him the perfect opportunity to boldly slide his heavy hand across my pantyhose-clad buttocks, right over the thin fabric of my skirt. Why the fuck aren't I telling him to stop? He began to caress my firm cheeks, his fingers gripping and kneading my flesh with an intense possessiveness, and I began to get dangerously worked up.

He gently pinched my bottom, and I stifled a sharp gasp, biting my lip. I could not help squirming my hips backward into his groin as he rudely, wonderfully molested me in the shadows.

"Turn around, nobody is watching," I heard his deep, husky whisper right against my ear, sending shivers down my neck as he gave my bum one last, hard squeeze.

I hesitated, my mouth drier than the desert, knowing this was the absolute point of no return. I could still just say 'stop it' and it would finish, making the rest of the journey to Ooty extremely long and embarrassing. But I was far too weak. My painfully erect, excited nipples were sending direct electric shocks straight down to my dripping wet pussy. Defeated by my own intense need, I twisted round and faced him.

We locked eyes in the dim ambient light, and I wantonly sucked in my tummy like an obedient little slut, allowing him to slide his hand down the front of my skirt and worm his thick fingers down into my underwear. I buried my flushed face in his shoulder, my mouth going slack. As he finally got his rough fingers inside the wet cotton of my panties, I let out a faint, trembling sigh of pure pleasure.

I glanced worriedly over his shoulder; all it would take was for someone around us to wake up and take a casual glance, or for the cleaner boy to walk down the aisle, and they would see exactly what dirty things we were doing. But it was way past the point of stopping as he stroked a calloused finger up and down my swollen, dripping little slit. Up and down, up and down...

I let out a muffled moan into his shirt as he managed to stretch the gusset of my pantyhose aside, turning his hand to press his thumb firmly against my throbbing little button. He teased my clit mercilessly, making tiny, rapid circles round and round until I squirmed like a crazy bitch in heat.

Then, moving with a rougher, more urgent demand, he turned his hand fully over and aggressively shoved two thick fingers right up my sopping wet cunt, beginning to properly finger-fuck me. I thought I would melt right into the seat. I clung desperately to his broad shoulders as he deeply explored my slick insides. Copious amounts of thick pussy cream escaped onto my inner thighs, completely drenching my panties and stockings.

There was an audible, filthy squelch, and then another, as he rapidly increased the pace. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper as he thrust his two fingers to the hilt inside me. My tight pussy clamped viciously around his invading digits, and I exploded. A massive, silent orgasm ripped through my body, absolutely soaking his fingers with hot, slick cum.

I shuddered violently against him, and he gently stroked my hair with his free hand as the intense waves of my climax racked through me. My head fell back against the seat. I was entirely spent. He continued stroking my hair as he slowly, deliberately eased his slick fingers out of my dripping hole, pulling his hand out of my ruined underwear. Weakly, I tried to smooth down my skirt, acutely feeling the heavy, sticky wetness pooling between my thighs.

What the hell had I just done? I turned and looked out the dark window into the rainy night to cover my burning embarrassment. I sensed him quietly leave his seat to clean up, returning a few minutes later.

"Look at me," he commanded softly.

I turned my head to see those gorgeous, mature eyes staring intensely into mine. "There's a rest stop coming up at Gundlupet soon," he continued, his tone smooth and authoritative. "Go wash yourself. Do your own thing."

He paused, a wicked, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Just one thing," he added, his voice dropping an octave. "Get rid of those ruined pantyhose before you get back on my bus."