Patricia shuffled uncomfortably as she held the pole of the evening bus as she left her afternoon classes and stared out at the darkening skies. She felt some one brush up against her and heart jumped into her chest as she felt the electricity spread from his touch. She gripped the pole tighter and pulled herself closer to it, away from the man, but as he eased himself closer she grew more scared. He brushed against her again and she clenched the pole as she felt her body warm. Her faced turned red with embarrassment and she cursed her body. The oversensative nerves, a genetic defect, crackled under her skin, coursing from her round ass, around her wide set hips, up her curvy body and over her full breasts. She breathed heavily as her nipples pressed hard against the thick cups of her bra. She hated her short curvy body, always feeling overweight and ugly, but more for how quickly she became arouse. It was her greatest source of shame that some stanger on the bus could get her heated by creepily caressing her ass through the thick clothed pants she always wore. She wanted to scream at him in fury, but was far to embarrassed. She could see herself drawing the attention of every other passenger on the crowded bus. Could see them recognizing her obvious arouse and judging her. As he grew bold and squeezed and cupped she could feel her thighs becoming hot and damp. She clenched her eyes shut against tears and tried to picture how close she was to home; just a few more stops.
She charged off the bus, burning with fury and shame and, worst of all, lust. He had continued his molestations up until she pulled the cord to get off. Her knees were weak and her body was on fire as she made her way the short distance home. She called out to the darkness for her family but did not get a reply as she made her way up the stairs in a few steps short of a run. She locked her door behind her and stood in front of the mirror. She took deep practiced breaths and tried to move her mind else where. Her eyes started at her long, straight, brown hair before she stared into her dark brown eyes. Her normally pale skin had a noticable rosy hue to it. She tried route her mind away from her feelings but everything was on fire. In a quiet yell of frustration she turned away from the mirror and practically tore her clothes off before falling, naked, backwards onto the bed. Her fingers buried themselves between her hot, wet folds. She mewled loudly as she worked her fingers furiously. She took one full breast in hand, gripping tightly as she ground against her fingers. After giving her breast a few precursory gropes she wrapped her thumb and index around one diamond hard nipple and gave it a soft squeeze, her back arcing in instant reply as she moaned out loudly. She could feel a pressure in her building to an ever increasing wave.
A sudden loud and frantic knocking interrupted her and she fell, panting slightly, to the bed. She lay there for a second, waiting for the person to leave, but the knock only grew more frantic. She pulled on a pair of sweatpants and zipped up a hoodie the gripped her loose breasts tightly and climbed down the stairs. She stood on bare tip toes to look through the peep whole and saw her neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, standing on the porch in an elegant black cocktail dress. She opened the door a small bit, all to aware of her rosy, damp skin and tossled hair.
“Patricia, dear. Oh thank goodness, Roger said he saw you come home. I’m afraid we are in a bit of a bind and you’d be a life saver if you could help us.”
“I’m, not sure what I can do, I’m not really feeling well at the moment.”
“You see, Roger and I have a date planned tonight, we have a reservation in town and everything, but our babysitter cancelled at the last minute. We are already late and we can’t get anyone else on such short notice. You used to watch him all the time anyways.”
“I don’t know, I’m really not feeling well…” her body was still on fire and her thighs were slick. She had been so close.
“Please dear, we really have no one else to call. We will gladly pay you double the normal rate. ” She looked so desperate.
“I suppose–“
“Great!” She said and practically dragged Patricia out the door and over next door. Patricia felt a pang of disappointment as she was pulled into her neighbors house. “Deacon!”
Patricia hear a loud clamor of footsteps as Mrs. Peterson called her son down. She was mildly surprised to find that he was much taller than she remember from babysitting him a few years back. He must have been thirteen or fourteen now and Patricia couldn’t help wonder why he needed a babysitter as she looked at him, almost as tall as she was.
“So a quick run down before I dash; Deacons in a bit of trouble right now so his bed time is 8:30. The pantry is fully stocked and you make whatever you like in there for dinner. Plenty of microwavables and stove top meals if you like. You guys can watch movies but nothing too scary. We should be home around eleven. Roger is already waiting in the car so I’ve gotta run. Thank you so much again, dear,” she said as she dashed out the door to the garage.
After all that comotion the house was suddenly silent and Patricia suddenly felt Deacons eyes staring curiously at her. She must have looked a sight in her desheveled state and he hadn’t seen her in a few years besides.
“Well, what do you say we make some dinner then make up a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie.”
“Sure,” he quiely replied.
They made and ate dinner in relative silence. She tried a few futile attempts to start conversation but he was not very forthcoming. It was a bit awkward but she was able to shut out some of the persistent heat radiating from between her still moist legs. After dinner she made up some popcorn as he picked out a comedy movie. They plopped down at opposite ends of the small couch, popcorn between them, and began watching.
The awkward quiet continued and grew as she realised she was the only one laughing. Growing a little irritated she gently kicked at him, “Are you even watching?”
“What? Of course!” He gently kicked back and suddenly the whole bowl of popcorn was pouring over her “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry!”
Before she could react he was on top of her, brush frantically over her body to push away the piles of popcorn, and instantly those dull embers between her legs flared to life and ectricity crackled over her skin.
“No,” she said breathlessly “wait, do-OH!” Her protests are suddenly cut short by an abrupt moan as his hand plunges down her shirt, digging for the many bits that fell into it. He pauses looking down realising for the first time what he is doing, and he looks over her body, seeing her reactions. His arm has pressed the zipper down and her breasts are almost completely bare and she cannot gather her breath to protest. He slides his hand up to cup her full breast, pulling it out of the now barely there hoodie, and her hands clench the couch as she lets out a low moan. She forms the words “please stop” in her brain as she works to unclench her fist. She reaches up to his shoulder to push him off “pleASE!” is all she gets out as he takes suddenly takes her nipple into his mouth and she howls in pleasure, him suckling and flicking it with his tongue. The hand that tried to push him away is suddenly gripping him tightly, pulling him in. Her back is arched, hips grinding against his thigh, and suddenly he’s sliding her sweat pants off. Tears form in her clenched eyes of frustration and shame.
He’s only a kid, why can’t she stop him. Her body on fire, jolts of electric pleasure seizing her body repeatedly. Her brain just keeps slipping deeper and deeper into a fog of ecstacy. She’s aware of him on top of her. His clothes are off. No. It is repeated loudly over and over in her head. Is she saying it? Can he hear her? In one solid stroke he is fully in her and her brain explodes with fireworks, her limbs wrapped tightly around him, her body pressed hard against his, hard nipples rubbing over his chest, his lips are on her neck, and she is screaming as her body ripples against his and around his. He is pounding hard and repeatedly. Her body cares little for his inexperienced thrusts as pleasure continues to resound in her hand and radiate out through body in intense waves. She is mildly aware of him tensing up and spasming in her arms as she continues to grind and writhe against him. After she feels him stop and fall exhausted against her her body begins to relax. As he shrinks out over her she can feel a mixture of their fluids dripping lazily out of her but her muscles are dead except for the occasional spasm. Deacon lies exhausted, panting on top of her, head nestled comfortably against her bosom. As he lets out a sigh, the breath rushes across her hard nipple and she can feel her body trying to ramp itself up again. She gently pushes him off her, not daring to look at him, feeling sobs of shame trying to force their way up. She turns away to hide it.
“Did I do something wrong?” the genuine concern in his voice tips her over the edge and she is bawling before she can stop and he’s apologizing repeatedly.
“No, it’s not your fault, its my fault. Just go up to your room, and go to sleep. Ill clean everying up.”
“But–“
“Just go,” and, dejected, he heads for the stairs. “Deacon, I’m really sorry, this was my fault, not yours. It shouldn’t have happened and it wont happen again, just dont tell anyone ok?” she says facing away, tears falling down her face. He doesnt respond and just walks up the stairs.
She pulls her sweats on and proceeds to clean the couch until the Petersons get home. After a very short conversation she excuses herself and rushes home and straight up to her bed were she curls up and cries tears of shame and guilt and humiliation until she falls asleep.