The Bus Ride Tease with a Cougar

It started with a glance. 

I saw her standing in line at the bus stop before she ever saw me, scrolling through her phone, the dim streetlights kissing her caramel skin. Tall, thick, curvy in the way that made men lose common sense. A true cougar—pushing fifty but moving like she still owned the room.

And that dress? That short, tight milkmaid-style dress that barely covered anything? It was dangerous. The creamy fabric clung to her thick thighs, riding high with every shift of her hips. Her small chest pushed against the fabric, nipples already stiff, poking through like they wanted to be set free.

I sat in the back of the bus, praying she’d sit next to me.She stepped on, took one look around, then locked eyes with me. And sat right beside me.

Her thigh pressed against mine, the heat of her body instant. The bus lurched forward, and her dress rode up even higher. My eyes flicked down—just for a second.

Dark curls. Not fully shaved. Just neatly trimmed, a real brunette through and through. She shifted, crossing her legs, and for half a second, I caught another glimpse.

She saw me looking.

Didn’t say a word.

Instead, she stretched, arms overhead, her back arching just enough to make the dress strain tighter over her body. When she dropped her arms, she spread her legs just a little wider.

Like she was testing me.

I adjusted myself, knowing she’d notice.

And she did.

Her dark brown eyes flicked down, locking onto the thick imprint stretching my sweats, lingering just a second too long. Her lips parted slightly. Her breath hitched.

And then, like magic, her nipples started to appear again, harder this time. Right before my eyes, they stiffened, pressing against the fabric, perking up like two tiny exclamation marks.

I smirked.

She shifted again, thighs pressing together, chest rising and falling a little quicker. Then, just as casually as before, she stretched her legs out. Her foot brushed my ankle first. Then my calf.

Then, like she was adjusting herself, her hand landed on my thigh. Firm. Deliberate.

She squeezed once, her knuckles grazing against the thick outline straining my sweats. Just enough pressure to let me feel her touch. Just enough to make me throb beneath it.

Then, like nothing happened, she pulled away.

She went back to scrolling her phone, lips curling in a smirk, her nipples still stiff, her legs still shifting.

I exhaled, still hard, still aching, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Next time, she wouldn’t be playing innocent.