Indecency

When you start falling for someone—really falling for them—it starts to manifest in the little details. Those little quirks you notice for the first time that you didn’t before.

Whether it’s the way she rests her tongue in the corner of her mouth when she’s concentrating, how she has this little habit of drumming her fingers against any available surface when she’s anxious, how she holds her hands to her heart and sighs before saying that something is her favourite, or the way that, on the rare occasion she feels shy, she drops her gaze so low you wonder if she’ll ever look back up again. Every little discovery is an accomplishment; you feel like a true explorer of the unknown, completing a map of her.

Young love is a frivolous thing, and, yeah, it might be cliché, but you just can’t keep your hands off of each other. You want to always be near her. Every moment has this certain charge. Even the most innocent contact can send your mind to places it never really had a reason to go. To think, one glance, one little innocent smile could be enough to leave you craving something far more than that. It’s easy to be enchanted, infatuated, intoxicated, call it what you want, you could almost fall madly in love with her over and over again.

Of course, these feelings can lead to the strangest of temptations. So much so that a simple bus ride home can become something else entirely.

The way that her words pour into your mind, fill you, take all that you are and leave nothing behind is indescribable. You want it to stop but are equally enraptured and entangled by the image forming. “…Look, no one is watching. I mean, I really, really want to kiss you right now. Can I? Please…” her voice sounds dreamy, somewhere between sweet and a little naughty, the kind of voice no one could resist. She had been leaning close the whole time she was whispering, lips almost touching your ear, and her breath was warm on the skin of your neck.

“That’s not what you said a minute ago, you asked if I could… you know.” You’re whispering to her as she pulls on your forearm. “We’re on a bus, Sullyoon. There are people.”

“I know.” The low giggle that escapes from her lips would drive anyone crazy. “But they haven’t looked at the back of the bus even once, and no one can see anything below our chests.”

“This is crazy.”

“Maybe, but I need you.” Her whisper is ever so soft, and she’s giving you those puppy-dog eyes.

“Seriously Sullyoon, public place. I’m sure it’s like, illegal.”

“Oh, but in the changing room was fine?” The edge in her tone has you shuffling in your seat.

“It’s just…” You start to try to explain, but your mind is clouded over in thoughts of her. Memories of Sullyoon; pressed against the cubicle door, eyes heavy, lips slightly parted and cheeks flushed.

“Just kiss me. No one is watching, come on.” She leans in with lips pursed and eyes closed, and before you have a chance to say no, or to think, or to do anything, her lips are on yours and you are lost in her.

Her tongue swipes over your lip and you open your mouth, letting her lead the kiss. Your teeth click as she kisses you aggressively, tongue pushing into your mouth, claiming every part. It’s all a rouse—a distraction. She pulls your hand onto her thigh and beneath the fabric of her skirt, moving higher and higher.

She parts her thighs ever so slightly, and well… one of those little things you learned about Sullyoon? Is the fact that she really liked not wearing underwear.

“Sullyoon. Stop,” you gasp her name against her lips. You grip your hand against her thigh if only to stop her from dragging it any higher, and you shake your head at her, trying to think about anything that isn’t how badly you wish you could have her there and then.

She turns away from you, looking down the bus at all the blissfully ignorant passengers. The closest is just three rows ahead with a pair of headphones on. “They have no idea. I can be quiet, I promise.”

She’s leaning in to kiss you again, but your hand on her thigh shifts and finds its way between her legs and oh no. Oh no, that’s wet. So wet. It stops her in her tracks, hot breath on your face, eyes rolling back, eyelashes fluttering, bottom lip quivering with her body’s desire, just from a single touch. “Seriously,” she breathes. “Please, I need—”

“You need to be quiet, alright?” The two of you are so close, and it is your turn to purr into her ear. You wonder if the light kiss against the soft shell of her ear and the gentle strokes of her inner thigh make her heart race just like yours is now. “You have to be as quiet as possible or I’ll stop. Got it?”

“God yes. Yes. Fuck.” She leans back, almost melting into her seat as you keep a firm hold of her, tracing teasing lines along her inner thigh.

Her knees shift as far apart as the bus seat will allow, and she hooks a leg over your own, and an arm over your shoulders. She makes herself look a lot more vulnerable and needy than she actually is, with eyes wide and watery. She’s biting her lip, and oh, Sullyoon is so adorable.

You make a final check. A scan around the bus, with your fingers so close to where she aches. People are reading, talking, sitting, sleeping. Everything but looking at the back row. It’s fine, you try to convince yourself as you run a fingertip through slick, silky arousal.

It’s just as her breath hitches, her body tensing and one long breath is forced through clenched teeth. Then a lilting, restrained hum follows as you keep one eye on everyone else and continue, and you curse the girl beside you for being this turned on, and this irresistible.

Even just the first firm touch of her clit has her thigh quivering against your own. It has her eyes closing and her arm tightening around you as she tries her hardest to contain the shudder that runs through her.

“Sshhh,” you tell her as you form little circles and trace patterns across swollen sensitive skin. Your free hand gently moves a strand of hair from her face, trying your best to distract her with the delicate action. But what’s hard not to notice is the soft, staccato gasp from each steady pass, every gentle swirl and tease.

Sullyoon’s head rolls slowly in a circle and falls back. As much as she wishes to throw her hips forward and bury your fingers, she commits all her focus to keep herself calm and still, quiet and composed. She feels the strain already in her core, aching for the touch of your fingers to explore. As good as the teasing is, it just isn’t enough, she is growing desperate, and has involuntarily begun grinding subtly into your hand for more friction, but your touch remains constant, almost a little sadistically so. She wants nothing more than the feeling of your fingers thrusting in and out of her, buried deep, stroking within her as your thumb works at her clit.

Every gasp of breath and stuttered exhale comes faster, a struggled pant as you press firm but slow circles into her, rubbing her swollen bud beneath your fingers, and every little adjustment in movement and change of pace has her hips stuttering and squirming. It’s easy for you to see just how quickly Sullyoon’s restraint is failing. The way her chest rises and falls so rapidly, her fingertips digging into your shoulder. “Relax, or you’re gonna get us in trouble,” you say, leaning closer as she opens her eyes.

“I’m trying,” is all she says under her breath. The frustration in her voice is impossible to miss, and with eyes pleading and desperation dripping, she throws one of those irresistibly cutesy little pouts your way, the kind of adorable expression that she has no idea the kind of effect it has.

You reach for her tie, collect it into your fist, and then use your thumb on her chin to open her mouth, and finally, stuff the cloth into her open mouth and seal your palm over top. “Can you be quiet with that?”

She nods in response, even more so at the press of your fingers on her sex. Two slide up and down, parting her folds, gathering her slick before reaching her entrance and lingering. Just one movement, one gentle, coaxing thrust, and your fingers would disappear within her heat.

Her eyes open wide, and she pleads you with those alone. Please. Please. Please.

It doesn’t take any more convincing for you to sink two fingers knuckle deep. A choked, stifled whimper from behind the patterned tie and the scrunching of Sullyoon’s nose have you wishing she could be vocal. How can you not want to know what she would sound like if no one could hear?

Fingers curled, palm against her, you fuck her with slow and lazy thrusts. Enjoying how her head rolls from side to side. Enjoying her teeth graze the cloth as you switch pace and speed with random intervals, teasing and fucking her all in one, alternating between regularity and then finding no pattern so that her hips are unable to predict a single thrust or rock.

Her back is arched into that same perfect curve you’ve noticed it always does when she gets close. It’s one of the first signs you notice of her being close to reaching orgasm. That, along with her toes, how they always curl inward. Her sweet little tells, you know them all by now. She always asks you how you can tell, wholly unaware of how much her body betrays her.

You check one final time, no one seems to care about two people at the back, even if one of them threatens to tear the leather from the seat as she grips it so hard. That final confirmation is all you need, you hook your fingers and pump them faster, you build up to the point where she’s so close to reaching the crest of her orgasm and it’s going to be an intense one. Her eyes scrunch close, and there’s another little tell that develops.

It always happens when she’s holding it back, her right leg shudders violently when the orgasm is held off. So close to hitting it but needs that final encouragement.

You lean into her ear, lips touching against the lobe. “Cum for me.”

Those three little words of instruction always work. Her eyes fly wide as you feel her tighten, those tiny muscles spasming, flexing and straining, releasing their built-up tension all in one. You watch her whole body tense, every muscle goes solid. Her hands, her thighs, her stomach, every part. The pressure on your fingers that she always crushes you with when the feeling becomes overwhelming is so perfectly tight as you pump them against the erratic jolts of her hips.

No one knows it, but she’s moaning, singing her pleasure and release beneath the makeshift gag, into your silencing hand. It is a lucky thing it’s inaudible, no doubt it would be a cute, beautiful, lust-filled moan that you’d kill to listen to, but not here. Her cum seeps over your hand, spilling from her trembling pussy. It acts as a promise. A promise of what she will do when you take her home, put your cock in her and fuck her until she cums for you again.

You smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you,” you whisper, even though she’s entirely distracted in the haze of pleasure.

Sullyoon, coming down from that orgasmic high, her senses return and realisation strikes her. Your hand drops from her mouth and she spits out the tie, gasping a lung-full of air, a relief she desperately craves. She leans her forehead into your shoulder, pushing through the tremble. “Oh fuck. Fuck, why did that have to feel so amazing?”

“Are you okay?” You whisper, lifting her head so you can check over her.

She looks up at you, eyes shining, “Are you?” She reaches out, placing a hand over the stiffness in your trousers.