As I stared out the window at the pitch-black night, my mind was completely occupied by the images of my mother kneeling in the stairwell and then turning sideways to give me oral sex. My lower body was painfully hard, straining against my pants.
"Screech—"
The bus arrived at another stop, the doors sliding open as a gust of cool air rushed in.
I glanced up at the station sign: Technology Park.
Good grief. A whole crowd of people swarmed onto the bus at this stop.
Men and women, all dressed in those seemingly exhausting shirts or suit jackets, their faces etched with the weariness of overtime. The bus was instantly packed.
Empty seats vanished in the blink of an eye, forcing the latecomers to stand, gripping the handrails as their bodies swayed with the motion of the bus.
Several of them leaned against the poles and closed their eyes, looking as if they could fall asleep any second.
In the back corner where my mother and I sat, although the high-backed seats in front provided some cover, the seats across the aisle to our left quickly filled up, and the rows ahead were densely packed.
Well, that was it. No chance now.
I let out a long, deeply frustrated sigh, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
"Hmm..."
My mother, sitting beside me, heard it and let out a soft, amused hum through her nose.
She turned slightly, her face drawing close to my ear in the dim light of the bus.
A warm breath, carrying the scent of her body and the faint, lingering musk from earlier, brushed against my ear.
"Little rascal," she whispered, her voice light and seductive, like a feather tickling my heart. "No way now, huh?"
I turned my head and looked at her with a pitiful expression.
My lips were pressed together, my eyes brimming with as much grievance as I could muster.
Seeing me like that, my mother couldn't help but laugh, her eyes curving into crescents.
She spread her hands in a "what can I do?" gesture, shrugging her shoulders lightly.
"Sigh."
Resigned, I reached out under the trench coat draped over her lap, searching for her hand.
Her hand was still a bit cold. I enveloped it completely, then slowly, one by one, slipped my fingers between hers, interlacing them tightly.
Palm pressed against palm, I squeezed firmly.
As if doing so could slightly ease the burning, aching emptiness below.
Her fingers stiffened for a moment before gently squeezing back, her fingertips unconsciously grazing the back of my hand.
We sat there holding hands, neither of us speaking.
Outside the window, lights and shadows flowed by, while the bus was filled with the mingled scents of strangers and the heavy sound of their breathing.
Another stop passed.
The doors opened, and an elderly woman with graying hair and a slightly hunched back, clutching a cloth bag, shuffled unsteadily onto the bus.
She glanced around, but no one in the packed bus made a move.
Of course, after a long day of work, everyone was glued to their seats, unwilling to get up. Some were even emitting soft snores.
The old woman gripped a handrail, standing in the aisle, swaying as the bus started moving.
My mother straightened up almost immediately.
I felt her grip on my hand tighten.
She glanced at the elderly woman, then at the young people in the front of the bus, who were either resting their eyes or staring at their phones, and her brow furrowed slightly.
"Ma'am!" my mother called out, her voice clear in the relative quiet of the bus.
The elderly woman and several people nearby turned to look.
Mom waved at the elderly woman with a gentle smile. "Auntie, please come sit here."
As she spoke, she began to rise from her seat.
My heart skipped a beat, and I instinctively reached out to hold her back.
Mom looked at me, puzzled.
My mind raced, and an idea suddenly surfaced, making my heart pound.
"Mom," I said, raising my voice just enough for the approaching elderly woman to hear, "you're not fully recovered yet."
The elderly woman had already come closer and, upon hearing my words, quickly waved her hands. "No, no, it's fine. Young lady, you stay seated. If you're not feeling well, I can stand for a while."
"But that won't do," Mom insisted, pulling her hand from mine and gently nudging my arm, signaling me to scoot over. "Auntie, please sit. I'm really fine. I... I can sit on my son's lap. He's a sturdy young man."
"This... this doesn't seem right..." the elderly woman hesitated.
"It's no trouble at all, Auntie," Mom insisted.
I quickly chimed in, forcing an especially well-behaved and understanding smile. "Please, have a seat."
Our back-and-forth drew the attention of others nearby.
Mom was resolute, and the elderly woman, unable to refuse any longer, finally sat down shakily, repeatedly expressing her gratitude. "Thank you, thank you both..."
"You're welcome, it's the least we can do."
Mom replied with a smile before turning to face me.
The lights at the back of the carriage were dimmer than those in the front, and I couldn't make out her full expression. All I could see was the glimmer in her eyes, carrying an emotion I couldn't quite decipher.
She bit her lower lip, then lowered herself, sitting sideways—directly onto my thighs, which were pressed together.
The weight of her settling was substantial, carrying the warmth and softness of her body.
The back row seats were relatively spacious, and with her sitting sideways, it didn't feel too cramped.
After the elderly woman sat down, perhaps feeling guilty or wanting to make conversation, she struck up a chat with Mom.
She asked where we were from, where we were headed, what was wrong with Mom, how old I was, and what grade I was in...
As Mom answered, she subtly adjusted her posture.
The hem of her coat naturally draped down, covering the overlapping parts of our thighs like a heavy curtain.
And beneath that curtain, my hand began to move.
At first, it rested on her thigh, clad in shorts, feeling the fullness and warmth of her leg through the cotton fabric and the pantyhose beneath.
Then, as if unintentionally, my fingers slowly crept toward the more hidden, softer area near the top of her thighs.
Mom was still talking to the elderly woman. "...Yes, he's in his last year of high school. The studies are quite intense..."
Her voice was steady, tinged with laughter.
But my fingertips had already reached the edge of her shorts, brushing against the slightly constricting lace trim at the waist of her pantyhose.
I paused for a moment, then my index finger tentatively slipped into the gap between the leg of her shorts and the pantyhose.
My fingertip immediately met the smooth, slightly cool skin of her inner thigh, along with the thin, elastic texture of the stockings.
"Mmm..."
Mom's body trembled almost imperceptibly, and a faint, stifled sound escaped her throat—so brief it was nearly swallowed back instantly.
Her voice paused for a second before immediately continuing, her tone barely changing: "...My cousin is getting married today, so I brought him along to relax a bit."
But in the dim light, I could see a flush rapidly spreading across her cheek, even the tips of her ears turning red.
My courage grew.
My fingers continued their exploration, slipping past the waistband of her tights and directly touching the edge of her panties.
The underwear she was wearing today was the pair I had "accidentally" seen drying on the balcony—light-colored, cotton, and very thin.
My index finger slid along the edge of the panties and immediately pressed against a soft, warm, and already slightly damp mound.
It was her mons pubis.
My fingertip could clearly feel the soft patch of hair and the plump, tender flesh beneath it.
"Hah..."
This time, she couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath, her voice trembling slightly. She quickly raised a hand to cover her mouth, as if coughing.
The elderly woman sitting nearby asked with concern, "What's wrong, dear? Is your throat bothering you? Or are you feeling dizzy?"
"N-no... I'm fine..."
Her voice carried a barely noticeable tremor as she turned her face toward the window, giving the old woman only the back of her head. "Maybe... it's a bit stuffy in the car. Auntie, I'll rest for a while. I'm feeling a little dizzy."
With that, she leaned forward, resting her upper body against the back of the seat in front of her and burying her head in the crook of her arm.
This position naturally caused her buttocks, which were sitting on my lap, to lift slightly.
It also made it easier for my hand, still playing mischief inside her panties, to delve deeper.
The old woman murmured an "oh" or two, probably seeing that she really wasn't feeling well, and stopped trying to chat, turning away to sit quietly.
Behind the curtain, the "game" between my mother and me had only just begun.
My index finger rubbed against that slippery softness, quickly finding the already muddy slit.
Sliding my fingertip up and down along the crevice, I could feel the fullness of her labia and their astonishing heat, along with the continuous flow of slippery love juice.
I curled my finger, using my knuckle to tease the constantly contracting entrance.
Squelch...
A faint, wet sound, which I keenly caught.
My fingertip was immediately enveloped in a wave of even hotter moisture.
Her leaning body began to tremble lightly, and her breathing, muffled by the mask, grew heavy and suppressed.
Her hips unconsciously swayed and matched to the rhythm of my finger's movements.
I was hard to the point of bursting, my pants tenting noticeably, but thankfully, my coat covered it.
A bolder idea surged into my mind.
My left hand, which had been holding her waist, quietly loosened its grip and moved to her hip.
I fumbled for the button and zipper of her shorts, gently undoing them and pulling them open.
Then came the tights.
My fingers hooked onto the waistband of the tights, along with the already soaked panties inside, and slowly, bit by bit, pulled them down.
During this process, her body stiffened for a moment.
But soon, I felt that not only did she not resist, she even cooperated by lifting her hips a little higher, making it easier for me to pull her pants down to the tops of her thighs.
She wanted it too.
This realization sent a thrill through me, making my scalp tingle.
I quickly unbuckled my belt, pulled down the zipper, and freed my already rigid, throbbing cock.
The cool air caused the head to contract slightly, but it was soon filled with even more fervent blood.
My right hand remained inside her slick, wet pussy, while my left hand steadied my burning shaft, pressing it between her slightly parted buttocks. Through the thin, soaked fabric of her panties, I positioned it against her slippery, wet entrance.
The moment the thick head made contact, both our bodies shuddered simultaneously.
A tightly suppressed, drawn-out moan escaped Mother's throat.
I tightened my grip on her waist with my left hand, tilting her body forward slightly, raising her buttocks higher.
Then, I thrust my hips, letting the head of my cock rub and grind against her full labia and entrance through the drenched cotton fabric.
The cloth quickly grew even wetter with her juices and my precum, clinging tightly to her skin as if it were barely there.
I could distinctly feel the softness, warmth, and the eager, rhythmic contractions of her opening.
Mother shifted her head where it rested against the chairback, turning her face to the side. Her eyes above the mask were glistening as they met mine, filled with shame, panic, and an overwhelming, undeniable desire.
Then, Mother did something that nearly made me come on the spot.
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