Matilda's night ride

Matilda's night ride Matilda's night ride

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Taking a resting holiday from her many Moroccan lovers, a German adventurer finds a night bus ride of a lifetime in northern Thailand.

Summary

Taking a resting holiday from her many Moroccan lovers, a German adventurer finds a night bus ride of a lifetime in northern Thailand.

Content

Submitted: May 08, 2019

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Content

Submitted: May 08, 2019

A A A

A A A


The overnight VIP bus to Chiangmai is filling up fast as Matilda climbs up the stairs to her armchair seat towards the front of the bus.

She is a little startled by the size and length of the dark man who is fully filling the neighbouring window seat. Must be a basketballer.

“Hi, I’m Al,” says the man with a smile. “I am going to Chiangrai.”

“Hello, I’m Matilda,” she says, smiling back.

As the luxury bus slides into the Bangkok night to head north, Matilda places a flat red pillow that she always travel with for her head on the back of the seat and takes the thin blanket out of it plastic bag. It’s going to be a bloody cold air-conditioned ride, as usual.

Before settling in, Matilda walks to the toilet at the back of the bus and slips off her flimsy pink bikini underwear from under her cool cotton skirt. She always sleeps naked, and this may be the closest way that she can tonight.

The black hunk of a man appears to be asleep, covered by blanket. Matilda loves men with dark skin and she loves the way her neighbour’s skin on his muscular arms and face gleams in the streetlight. She admires the fine features of his face that is like an African tribal mask, carved from ebony wood.

Matilda lifts up the armrest that separates their comfortable seats and sinks into hers. She enjoys the warmth radiating from the man muscular body and naughtily makes use of the bus bumping motion to ride her bottom to touch his musdular thigh.

This bumpy stretch of the highway pushes her bottom more firmly against her man. Riding the bumps, she enjoys what her bum is feeling for her. As the man moves, the back of his large left hand presses against her curves.

“Jesus,” Matilda mumbles to herself. This is going to be a good all night ride. Still with the back to the man, she feels him turn towards to face her body.

Then she feels his heavy right hand being placed as if accidentally on the full curve of her bottom, resting delectably on her filmsy skirt. The hand soon realises that she is bare underneath and in fact her lower half is all open to it.

“Scheisse,” Matilda thinks, she is in for it now.

The strong hand and fingers caress her very slowly and gently now. Like a sculptor’s hand, it shapes the ample globes of her soft flesh, then dips under into the valley of her anus.

Don’t stop, breathes Matilda, to herself. The wrong hand doesn’t stop and his index and middle fingers are now caressing the carpet of her fine copper pubic hair.

Scheisse. The man’s thick index finger now picks up moisture leaking from her vagina and rbs it on to her anus that is now at its mercy.

The strong finger draws small rings around her pucker target, poises on it then presses ever slowly inside the back gate.

Matilda tries not to cry out but instead pushes her face deep into her square red night pillow. The finger slips right in and slides back out again, ever so slowly.

The old paunchy and balding man with glasses, looking just like her old dad, is stretched out in the seat across the aisle. He is awake and is looking over. But it’s all very dark to see much.

Too bad, old fellow, better luck next time, the woman thinks while peering at him.

Matilda feels her man turning more against her body now and gently slides her finger out with a soft pop when she desperately wants him to keep it right in.

His right hand unzips the fly of his tight pants. Then Matilda feels the head of his heavy penis on her anus.

“Holy mother of God,” the normally non-religious woman whispers to herself. It will be murder because this fellow feels far too big.

Matilda had to quickly reach backwards and grab hold of the warm penis to halt the monster. She can’t quite believe this nuclear rocket that she is holding.

The German backpacker as usual carries a small bottle of coconut oil in her purse. She quickly pulls it out and passes it backward, while still not looking at her suitor.

She smells the man rubbing the lotion on himself. Then she holds her breath, hangs on to the armrest and bites the red cushion in anticipation. The monster baton presses gently at first and when on target muscles right in.

Unholy mother of God. This is not possible. How can something this big and long be admitted into her.

The bus slows down and pulls in to stop at the side of the road.

“Shit, police check,” she whispers to her neighbour.

Sure enough, two sleepy officers come on to the bus and shine their little torches on the faces of sleeping passengers.

They see a big black man cuddling up under the blanket to a young white woman with curly coppery hair and smile to each other.

“Jesus Christ,” whispers Matilda to Al. “We usually stop very soon for supper. The food is shit, but we can continue there? Stay in me until then.”

“My pleasure,” says Al. No, mine, thinks Matilda.

The tour bus bumps and grinds over road under construction. Matilda and Al ride with the bumps, so much so that the red-haired woman has to swallow an exploding sweaty orgasm, just before the bus comes to a halt for supper.

At the supper break, Matilda quickly pulls the towering Al by hand to a very dark spot behind a building around the corner from where passengers from many buses were eating their supper in a hall.

“We have 20 minutes,” she says.

Very quickly she leans back against the timber wall and open her thighs wide apart while standing. Al drops his tight pants and grabs his gleaming black baton and just about bulldoze it into Matilda’s tight vagina.

It’s unlike anything the young German woman has felt or a long time. Maybe since her even wilder days in Germany or even in Morocco as of last week.

She screams now into Al’s broad muscular chest and into the humid night. Out of the corner of her eyes, she glimpses the paunchy old man from the bus who is standing wide-eyed behind a bush on this warm night.

She bets that he won't get much sleep tonight.

Matilda stays on the bus for Chiangrai, an hour further north, with her new Al.

Her scheduled return to her queue of Moroccan lovers may just need to wait a little longer, so that her new basketballing Al can do as many more slam dunks as he wants.

 


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