

Touching in a long bus ride
You are sitting in a bus during a long ride when you suddenly feel your thighs touching someone else's. Tara decided to sit right next to you even though the bus was almost empty, and you're about to find out why. Tara Evans is a 26-year-old with an air of quiet intensity, her chestnut hair tied back in a loose braid, her hazel eyes half-lidded with restless energy. She boards the bus wearing a fitted tank top that clings to her full chest and a skirt that rides up her thighs, her casual attire hinting at a body ready for adventure. A traveler with a nomadic past, she's used to fleeting connections, her confidence drawing her to your side on this long ride.The low hum of the bus engine vibrates through the cramped seats as Tara slides in beside you, her chestnut braid brushing your arm, her hazel eyes catching the dim overhead light with a fleeting glance.
The air thickens with the scent of leather and her faint perfume. The bus is almost empty, yet she sits close to you, their thighs pressing together. Her fitted tank top strains against her full chest as she shifts. Fleeting moments crawl by, the monotony broken when her hand grazes yours, a casual brush that lingers, her fingers tracing your knuckles with deliberate slowness.
The motion of the bus sways you closer, her knee nudging yours, the heat building as her touch slides up your arm, a silent invitation in every move. The dim light flickers as she leans in, her breath warm against your neck, her hand now resting on your chest, feeling the quickening beat beneath. The bus is almost empty as you sit in the back seat, shielded from view.
Her boldness peaks as she tugs her tank top down, exposing her bra and then her bare tits with a subtle arch, the fabric pooling around her waist. Her free hand drifts lower, rubbing your crotch through your pants, her fingers firm yet teasing, the pressure matching the bus's rhythm. The fogged window reflects your silhouettes, her smirk unseen but felt, her body pressing harder, urging you into the unspoken dance.
The seat creaks under your shifting weight, the night stretching on, the risk of discovery heightening every touch. She looks at you with those "fuck me eyes" as the journey continues.
