Greyhound Game

The Greyhound bus rumbled on through the dark, cloudy night. Virtually all of the fifteen or so other passengers were asleep; only two passengers happened to have their overhead lights activated, and it appeared that both of them were reading, and one of them was also listening to something through his headphones.

Even though it must have been about 2:30AM, even though I was exhausted, I could not sleep, and neither could my cherished girlfriend. We each suffered from an extreme difficulty of sleeping on moving vehicles, and the potholes along this section of the highway certainly did not help in this situation.

As a longtime veteran of Greyhound trips, I had insisted that we bring a thin blanket with us, to help shield us from the cool air on the bus even as the driver continued undeterred through the desert night. Sitting in the very last row of the bus, I leaned against the window, Sherry leaning back against me, with the blanket covering us both.

Neither of us spoke. There was no need to say anything, nor was there any desire to awaken anyone, even though the nearest person was sitting, asleep and snoring softly, three rows ahead of us.

Words were not needed because we had our gestures. Specifically, we had my gestures. With the blanket to both ensure our warmth and protect us from any prying eyes should someone decide to use the bathroom at the back of the bus, my hands moved with intimate familiarity across the beautiful feminine landscape.

With her head resting upon my left shoulder, Sherry occasionally sighed softly, contentedly. She simply caressed my legs as my hands moved languidly across her flat stomach, or dipped down to cup her sex through the tight denim shorts, or traveled upward to massage her breasts.

Touching her like this was having an effect upon me. I had no doubt that she could feel my denim-protected arousal attempting to press into her cleft. I was certain that she could feel my heart beating a little faster than usual against her back.

I was definitely aware of her arousal. Very early in our relationship, I realized that when Shelly starts to become aroused, her fingers tend to curve inward as she touches me. That was definitely the case, as she gently scratched at my thighs underneath the shielding blanket. She also does not usually breathe with her lips parted, but her mouth was indeed open even when she was not sighing with contentment. And barely, just barely, I thought I could discern the slight indentation of her nipples even through both t-shirt and bra.

As my hands gently cupped and kneaded each breast, I kissed her cheek. The exhalation which escaped past her lips was noticeably louder to my ears, but almost certainly unheard by anyone else. I smiled against her face, enjoying our little Game and knowing that she was enjoying it as well.

Subtly, I rocked my erection into her several times. In the dim light of the passing vehicles on the other side of the median, her smile was a lighthouse beacon cutting through the darkness. Clearly, she was enjoying this. Her eyes closed, she was giving herself over to me, allowing me to do with her as I pleased despite the presence of some fifteen other passengers and the driver... and countless drivers and passengers in the passing vehicles.

Clearly, Shelly wanted me to continue, and I was more than happy to oblige her.

I gave each breast another firm squeeze – which was rewarded by another soft exhalation – before my hands slowly wandered down her ribs and stomach and lower. Her legs parted naturally, and I took the opportunity to gently scratch at her inner thighs, causing her to shiver subtly against me in reaction. As I continued to scratch her lovingly, my lips caught her right ear and suckled gently, tonguing the simple stud piercing. Her thighs closed somewhat, as if giving a half-hearted attempt at trapping my hands in such a wonderful and special place.

As Shelly's fingernails scratched at my denim-clad thighs with a little more intensity, I knew it was time to move to the next level of the Game. One hand moved back up the slender body to again fondle a breast while the other hand moved the much shorter distance to lovingly caress and massage the base of her torso. As my left hand glided from one breast to the other, I was keenly aware of the increasing depth of her every breath, and wondered idly just how far I could escalate these intimate matters. Sliding the one hand back and forth from breast to breast, I continued to knead my girlfriend's sex until she was slowly moving against my hand.

Releasing the ear, my lips again found her cheek. Again and again, I kissed her softly, silently, enjoying the slow writhing of her body against me. As the blanket slowly slipped from her shoulders, Shelly reluctantly pulled it back up into its protective position and returned her hands to my thighs, her fingers still curled inward.

The snoring from the passenger three rows before us seemed to increase in volume, but otherwise, there was no indication that anyone else on the bus was aware of the intimacy unfolding underneath our blanket. How different this was from being back on campus, where one essentially expected to hear or even see the intimacy of other college students almost on a daily basis. Yet that very difference was part of the Game, part of the challenge, part of the excitement, part of the arousal.

Withdrawing my lips from her warming cheek, I noticed Shelly's mouth moving. This was something new, something intriguing. I had to watch for a while to realize she was mouthing messages of encouragement: "Please," "Don't stop," "Squeeze me harder," and similar statements of desire.

So I stopped. I moved both hands to my girlfriend's stomach and just stopped. "No," I heard her say, just faintly. "Please, no!"

I waited. Perhaps a full minute passed before Shelly's own hands finally resumed my previous work. I smiled to myself, smugly enjoying her attempt to end her frustration, then decided to frustrate her further by taking her hands in mine and pulling them away from her body.

"You wicked bastard!" she whispered, her quiet voice carrying an unmistakable edge of anger. I giggled evilly, then finally released her hands and attempted to get into her tight shorts. Her fingernails again scratching at my thighs, the metal button finally popped through the tiny slit, an action accompanied by a slight and sudden exhalation. Slowly, as if unwrapping the protective covering of a crystalline sculpture of priceless value, I lowered the zipper with one hand while the other hand slipped inside the garment and over the front of the g-string to its crotchless opening.

Protected only by the thin blanket and by her own willpower to remain quiet, Shelly moved against my fingers as I penetrated her with a pair of digits. Her loving passage was quite warm, and quite wet. I longed to hear her gasp loudly between frenzied moans, to feel her body thrashing against me, but those were actions and sounds for another time, another place, another situation, another manner of penetration. Instead, I contented myself with the Game at hand, with slowly masturbating my girlfriend in the close proximity of complete strangers while my free hand alternated between her breasts, squeezing and pulling and caressing.

My actions were having the desired effect. As the passengers read or slept unknowingly and the driver kept her attention on the highway before her, a stunning young college coed moved against me, her fingers curling more and more to form a fist against each of my thighs. The trembling of her body was due in part to the potholes, in part to my treatment of her feminine form, and in part to her internal struggle to maintain her willpower.

The Game was at its climax. Through gritted teeth, her breaths were hard and somewhat fast, creating a slight hissing sound with each inhalation, each exhalation. Her loving passage rumbled around my thrusting fingers as her sensitive nub throbbed beneath my thumb. The blanket fell from her shoulders again, and if anyone were to come back to the bathroom at that time, my left hand firmly seizing her right breast would have instantly either ensured our doom or introduced us to a kinky new friend... and the motion of my right arm would have left absolutely no doubt as to the action taking place underneath the blanket and between her firm thighs.

Suddenly clutching my thighs with both hands, her fingernails burrowing into my flesh despite my jeans, orgasm consumed her. Yet Shelly was able to remain absolutely silent, her mouth agape in a silent scream, her wild eyes wide open yet certainly unseeing as she stiffened in a severe arching position. Just as furiously, I continued to masturbate her, prolonging her ecstasy, pushing her limits as far as possible, lengthening the Game to its fullest extent until, at last, she slumped back against me, breathing heavily yet almost silently, the snoring of the passenger three rows before us covering any noise which the other nearby passengers might otherwise have heard coming from our direction.

My fingers remained inside her body for the better part of an hour, moving only occasionally and eliciting a soft sigh each time. Her hands lovingly stroked my arms as I continued to fondle her chest. Although the blanket covered us both anew, I could just faintly smell her arousing musk, and longed to savor her intoxicating love.

As the bus slowed to exit the highway, I finally withdrew my hands and tasted my girlfriend's nectar as she ensured her tight denim shorts were returned to a socially-acceptable order. A few moments later, the bus parked in front of an all-night donut shop. As the other passengers slowly awoke, the driver informed us of the thirty-minute break.

Neither Shelly nor I moved. Underneath the blanket, I held her close, and we quickly drifted off to sleep, and I for one was dreaming of the next time we would play the Greyhound Game.