The bus lurched through the city, a groaning beast crawling through crowded streets, its air thick with the press of bodies—suits, sneakers, the cloying mix of perfume and sweat.
Jason clung to the rail at the back, his hoodie a flimsy shield against the world, his pulse a relentless hammer in his veins.
Stella stood just three feet ahead, framed in the narrow aisle, surrounded by strangers yet utterly alone in her allure.
She was different now.
A flush painted her cheeks, a soft rose glow that seemed to pulse with her quickened breaths.
Her lips parted, glistening, as if the bus's sway demanded more air than she could steal.
Her hand gripped the pole, knuckles pale, her body swaying with a rhythm that felt too deliberate, too alive.
Jason's eyes narrowed, slicing through the shifting crowd.
A man stood behind her—middle-aged, balding, his business coat crisp but his intentions anything but.
He pressed too close, his chest flush against the lush curve of her ass, his waist nestled against her like they were lovers in a crowded room. His arm hung low. Too low.
Jason's gut twisted, a cocktail of rage and something darker.
The man's fingers grazed Stella's hip, a fleeting touch that lingered, then slid boldly toward the swell of her ass, brushing her cheek with a casual intimacy that made Jason's blood roar.
Stella inhaled sharply, her shoulders tensing—then melting, soft and yielding.
She didn't pull away.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, her grip tightened on the pole, her lips parting wider, the flush on her cheeks blooming into a deeper, hungrier shade.
Her body swayed, inviting, as the man's hand grew bolder, cupping her ass with a possessiveness that screamed he knew she wouldn't resist.
And she didn't.
Jason's cock throbbed, a traitor to the shame clawing at his chest.
He watched, frozen, as Stella's breath grew shallow, her eyelids fluttering half-shut, her body rocking subtly with the bus's rhythm.
The man disembarked at the next stop, slipping past her with a smirk she never saw, leaving a void Jason couldn't resist.
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, closing the distance until he stood where the stranger had been.
The space between them was nothing—a whisper of air charged with her heat, her scent.
Jasmine and vanilla flooded his senses, mingling with something rawer, needier.
Her ass brushed his crotch as she leaned forward, the contact fleeting but electric. No apology.
No glance back.
She knew.
Jason swallowed, his throat dry as ash.
He flicked his eyes to the schedule overhead, a weak pretense, his heart slamming against his ribs.
His hand moved, hesitant at first, knuckles grazing the lush curve of her ass through her tight black jeans.
She didn't move. Didn't flinch.
Her thighs shifted, parting just enough to beckon.
Emboldened, his fingers pressed deeper, cupping her cheek, the denim a thin barrier to the firm, yielding flesh beneath.
Her breathing hitched, then deepened, a silent permission that set his blood on fire.
He traced lower, exploring the sensitive seam where thigh met heat, his touch slow, reverent, yet trembling with need.
Then he found it.
A tear in the fabric.
A deliberate slit, hidden in the shadow of her jeans, the string of her thong no obstacle.
His fingertips brushed bare skin—warm, slick, pulsing with life.
Her pussy lips, soaked and throbbing, parted under his touch like they'd been waiting for him.
Jason froze, his breath a ragged gasp trapped in his chest.
She didn't stop him.
Instead, she rocked back, a subtle shift that pressed her heat against his fingers, urging him deeper.
Her head tilted down, her chest rising and falling faster, her breasts straining against the red crop top as her body betrayed her hunger.
Jason's hand shook, but he didn't pull away.
His fingers stroked, slow and deliberate, tracing the slick folds of her pussy on a crowded bus, bodies pressing in from all sides, oblivious to the sin unfolding in their midst.
Her heat pulsed against him, a silent plea for more, her body trembling with the same need that consumed him.
He was touching his stepmother.
And she was letting him.
Her pussy clenched, slick and greedy, as if it wanted him inside, pulling him deeper into a darkness he couldn't escape.
And in that moment, packed tight in the swaying bus, with the city blurring past and shame burning in his veins, Jason didn't want to escape.
He wanted to fall.