As the bus wound its way down the meandering mountain road, if one of the few passengers was a bored, uninterested observer who looked at the back of the vehicle, she or he would have seen only a young woman sitting there, on a window seat. She was wearing a relatively wide brimmed felt hat and had a blue and white daypack on the seat beside her, stuffed to the point of bursting. There were few passengers on the bus, and nobody else back there, so it was a little odd that she sometimes muttered to herself, as she looked out at the passing landscape and trees.
It would be difficult, however, to find an observer that would remain uninterested for long after catching sight of the pretty brunette. Her dark, almost blue mane, with very straight, smooth hair, was held in a plait draped along her left shoulder, and resting between her breasts, tied at its end with a blue ribbon. She sometimes grabbed the plait nervously, twisting it a little before catching herself and letting it go again. Despite the day being sunny, a blue and white scarf was wrapped loosely around her neck, a flap of it covering her bosom.
Her coppery skin, revealed by her sleeveless, light blue shirt, glowed with the healthy, taut shine of youth and fitness. Her bare arms and well-formed shoulders were slim, slender and anything but flabby, as her movements revealed long, firm muscles under her silky, flawless skin. Her dainty hands were also slim and long fingered, with unpainted but very rosy and shiny fingernails that were only a little long, and obviously well cared for.
Black leggings, coming out from light brown hiking shorts, underscored the statuesque and muscular (but not overtly so) legs of a runner’s physique; she was also wearing white canvas hiking shoes. The rest of her was equally lovely. But her most striking feature, and what most people noticed first about her, was her large, dark eyes. The hypothetical observer, if standing at the polite distance of a gawking passenger in the front of the bus may have thought those eyes were black.
A bolder observer, standing at kissing (or perhaps slapping) distance would have seen those eyes were instead chocolate brown. Those eyes were very piercing, lit with a penetrating intelligence from within. Those were not the eyes of a girl. They were the bold eyes of a woman with the strength given by a purpose only she knew about.
Her smooth brow, slightly protruding cheekbones, proud chin and dainty nose also indicated a serene, but strong and not easily thwarted will. She sometimes, however, looked around and in front of her warily, but not fearfylly, rather defiantly, instead, without being blatant about it, as if self-conscious of being observed, or as if having something to hide.
As the ride continued, and if the observer looked back at intervals, the woman would have been seen sometimes smiling to herself, at other times even giggling discreetly, or sometimes wide eyed with wonder and anticipation. And more muttering would have been witnessed. If looking long and hard enough, the odd impression could be had that she was talking to her chest. But the noisy engine did not permit to ascertain what the occasional muttering was about.
But there were, thankfully, no such rubberneckers around. Perhaps the passengers were too dull, too self-absorbed in their own conversations, or simply incurious or too overcome with motion sickness by of the sinuous mountain road to bother with looking at the back of the bus. It was just as well, as the woman sometimes also slipped a graceful hand under her scarf to paw under it, seemingly at her bosom, before taking her hand away, with obvious reluctance, after just a few seconds, biting her lower lip. Now THAT, if witnessed, would have caused more than raised eyebrows.
“I’m hungry” Said the young woman in a whisper. “do you want something? I’m up for dried fruit”, she said, before twisting her waist to face her backpack, rummaging expertly inside it to produce a small transparent bag, which was just as promptly opened with her nimble fingers. She took up delicately a few red and green scraps off the bag, only to stuff them down her cleavage, under her scarf. Her hand came out empty seconds after. She, unladylike, emptied the bag into her hand, dumped the contents on her mouth and munched contentedly at the whole package.
“I know you’re hot in there, love” she said moments later, “but it’s not like I can shove a water bottle down my tits in front of everyone, or juggle a bottle cap in there without spilling it. You’re pretty warm too, so I’m also hot and even getting an annoying case of itchy boobs there now. And you know, having you there for long also makes me hot ELSEWERE. Doing something about THAT would be awkward in public, no?”, she said, in a playful tone. After a pause, she said “Stop that!”, barely holding back a girlish yelp, twitching and looking around nervously, without being able to keep a foolish grin off her face. “Get back to the middle, naughty boy, if you wander too much around it’ll seem like I am the three-breasted woman escaped from the circus on this bus”.
She looked out the window. The road was straighter now, a few passing villas could now be seen popping out of the woods.
“We’re almost there. If I did not know you would like it and you’d squirm even more, I’ll stuff you DOWN there till we get there… that’d teach you warmer AND wetter now”.
Zava, as it was indeed her, we’re not fooling anyone, held her hand again against her bosom, groping lovingly over the fabric at the lump her tiny boyfriend made on her cleavage. He returned her caresses with both hands and his mouth at her boobs, making her tingle all over and get goosebumps and I know he notices when she felt his tiny lips on her skin.
Even after so much time living together, they could not keep their hands off each other. She used every opportunity she had to feel up his hard little body with her hungry fingers or mouth (and other parts), which made it challenging for her to be in public with him around her person. It was VERY difficult to keep her hands to wandering to wherever in her body or clothes he was riding along. And calling attention… any attention to him was, as they both knew, potentially deadly. She was, after all, in love with an outlaw.
He was just as grabby, of course, and in this trip he often left his perch in the middle of her breasts to slide around them, crawling under her top to rest under her tit to feel its weight and softness pressing all over his body, running his ticklish hands all over, pressing and caressing, fondling her nipple when he was in reach, but the lump on her chest when he did that was very noticeable, and as she was a little busty (Mark thought she would have been a C-cup if she was of earthling proportions), people often looked at her chest (even women) and they would notice the oddity.
After all these hours she was very turned on and positively squelching in her pants. Since meeting Mark, she never could use light colored slacks again as she could get so wet down there with his antics, or just by him being around, that it would show.
Thankfully, they were now close to their destination. They had been looking forward to this trip for quite a while. Now they could afford it. After last year’s harrowing encounter with the police, she knew living in her old boarding house with a nosy and annoyed governess around (and afterwards, curious neighbors, word got around, of course) was too dangerous. Any sighting of her tiny room (and bed) mate by the wrong person (pretty much everyone) would mean, quite literally, the end of their lives, specially Mark’s.
She managed to scrounge her few savings and, as soon as she found a more private place, she moved there with Mark. It was a little farther from Uni, but it the added privacy was worth it. They were very happy there. However, money had been tight for a while. Mark had started unfolding his money-making schemes and after a while they managed to sell a few writings of his own (under Zava’s name, and dictated to her) to a tech magazine, after quite a few rejected attempts.
The articles had been well received and eventually they were offered a syndicated column, which paid better, and it had quickly gained attention from an increasingly praising readership. Just last month, another of Mark’s projects, a projecting screen for electrical typewriters, the prototype of which Zava and Mark had built together over months, and the design of which they had patented (putting an additional burden on their meager budget) had been presented to an electronics factory.
After the presentation given by Zava, and a demonstration of the working prototype, it was bought from them for an astoundingly large sum. Zava knew they could have gotten more, but they needed the money for other, potentially more lucrative projects, but also with more expensive materials, so they did not haggle. Finally, and now with a steady income, much more than what she earned at her former job in a department store and part-time on the university library, they could pay for a short vacation to lake country on the holidays.
He surely needs it more than I do… and I will make him happy. Mark was not a morose man, but she could see that months of confinement in her house, without being able to go out on his own… or talk to anyone but me… were starting to take their toll on his mood, and she caught him sighing and staring into the wall all too often, and when she got back to the house at night he practically threw himself at her, pressing against her silently, hugging what she could of her. She knew he knew he was a virtual prisoner, and it broke her heart.
She of course kept with her student life and her friends, and Mark kept very busy with her fabrication projects. Zava also took him on walks on the city, or when jogging, and to the malls with her and even to class on the University, often hidden on her cleavage (she had become very good at dissimulation with cleverly chosen wardrobe accessories to carry him around and cover his presence) or her pocket, or in a special, mug-sized capsule Zava had built to carry him around in her purse or backpack in emergencies. But of course, most of the time she could not keep him with her, as he could do but little to keep himself occupied while riding on Zava’s body, so he stayed at home often.
When he was on her, like in this trip, however, he kept her entertained. His PDA had literally hundreds of electronic books and Zava loved when Mark read them to her, he was very funny when making all the character’s voices, and he narrated very well. Of course, one of the first books he read to her was Gulliver’s travels. Zava also liked earth’s horror and science fiction, which was much more interesting that what was available on her world’s literature, as was to be expected from a more advanced technological society like the one Mark came from.
On this bus trip, however, he was reading her Pride and prejudice, from his cleavage burrow, aided by their trusty earpieces. That is, he tried to read it in the intervals Zava was not fondling him through the shirt or when HE was doing the fondling.
I will make him forget all his sadness in this vacation… I’ll see to it, dear Mark. Count on me.
Soon after, they got to the bus terminal and they took a rickshaw taxi to the cabin hotel where Zava had made the reservations. It was near famous hot springs, and lakes. The trip had been recommended to Zava by a friend who had stayed there. It was not very touristy, but they would have their privacy and they loved to camp and cook together. Minutes later, they finally were alone in their comfy, if rustic room.