Chapter 2: The Uninvited Guest
The cold night air rushed in, carrying the smell of damp soil and crushed weeds. It cut through the warm, sticky haze of the back seat. The figure stepped up into the dim glow of the interior lights.
It was Rohan.
Samarth knew him instantly, even though the guy had changed. He’d filled out, his shoulders broader, but there was a gauntness to his face the moonlight didn’t soften. His eyes, dark and unblinking, scanned the scene: Mimansa still with her skirt hiked, Vrinda’s face streaked and gleaming, Sanya half-dressed and kneeling, Samarth exposed and spent on the stained seat.
Rohan’s lips curled. Not quite a smile. “Well, fuck me,” he said, his voice a dry rasp. “Heard this bus was a party. Didn’t think it was this kind of party.”
Mimansa was the first to move. She didn’t cover up. She just leaned back, spreading her legs a fraction wider, letting the evidence of Samarth’s creampie glisten. Her playful smile returned, edged with something sharper. “Rohan? Last I heard you got shipped off to your uncle’s garage in Bhatinda.”
“Got bored.” Rohan’s gaze lingered on her thighs. He took a few steps down the aisle, his boots heavy on the rubber floor. He was holding a faded backpack. “Buses are more interesting.”
Samarth felt a slow curl of irritation in his gut. He pulled his jeans up over his hips, the denim rough against his sensitive skin. He didn’t fasten them. “Driver just let you walk on?”
“Driver’s having a smoke. And a cry, I think.” Rohan shrugged, stopping a few rows ahead. He dropped his pack on a seat. “Said something about his wife. Didn’t seem to care what happened back here.” His eyes flicked to Samarth’s crotch, then to Vrinda, who was calmly wiping the cum from her chin with her thumb. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
Vrinda licked her thumb clean, her eyes on Rohan. “We were.”
Sanya had shrunk back, pulling her shirt over her small chest. But she wasn’t leaving. She stayed on the floor, her eyes huge behind her glasses, watching from behind the barrier of the seat.
“You just here to watch, Rohan?” Mimansa asked, her tone teasing. She dipped a finger between her legs, gathered a mix of their fluids, and extended it toward him. “Or you want a taste?”
Samarth’s hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. “Mimmi.”
She looked at him, surprised by the possessiveness in his grip. He held her gaze for a second. He didn’t know this guy anymore. The Rohan from school was a quiet guy who got kicked out for getting into a fight with a teacher. Rumors said he used a metal ruler. This version, standing in the half-light, felt unpredictable.
Rohan watched the silent exchange and chuckled. “Relax, champ. I’m not here to steal your leftovers.” He nodded toward the back. “Just need a place to crash for the ride. But if the show’s still running…” He leaned against a seatback, his posture loose. “I don’t mind an encore.”
The bus engine ticked as it cooled. The driver was still absent.
Vrinda broke the tension. She let out a short laugh and nudged Sanya with her foot. “See? An audience.” She turned back to Samarth, her hand sliding over his stomach, down to the waistband of his jeans. “You got another one in you? Or did we break you?”
Her touch was a challenge. A reclaiming. Samarth looked from her hungry face to Mimansa’s defiant one, to Sanya’s quiet, waiting presence. His pride flared, hot and immediate. His body, traitorously, was already stirring again.
“He’s not broken,” Mimansa whispered, feeling him twitch against her leg through the denim. She pried her wrist from his grip and brought her wet fingers to her own mouth, sucking them slowly. Her eyes never left Rohan.
“Prove it,” Vrinda said.
Samarth exhaled, a sharp sound. He ignored Rohan. He focused on the women in his orbit, their expectant heat. He grabbed a fistful of Sanya’s long braid, not hard, but enough to make her gasp. “Up,” he commanded.
She scrambled onto the seat, turning onto her hands and knees, presenting herself. Her back was a delicate arch.
“Doggy,” Samarth said, to no one and everyone. He yanked his jeans back down, freeing his erection, which was now full and heavy again. He spat into his palm, slicked himself roughly, and positioned himself behind Sanya. He didn’t enter her yet. He looked over his shoulder at Rohan.
Rohan just watched, arms crossed, a faint, unreadable smirk on his face.
Samarth drove into Sanya in one deep, punishing thrust. She cried out, a sharp, ragged sound that was muffled against the vinyl seat. He wrapped her braids around his hand like reins, holding her steady as he set a brutal pace. The smack of his hips against her ass was loud, rhythmic, a stark counterpoint to the quiet night outside.
Mimansa watched, biting her lip, her hand moving between her own legs again. Vrinda moved closer, cupping Samarth’s balls from underneath, feeling the slam of his body. “Yeah, like that,” she murmured. “Fuck her just like that.”
Sanya was sobbing, but they were sobs of pleasure, her fingers clawing at the seat fabric. “More, please, more,” she choked out.
Samarth was a machine, fucking the awkwardness and the intrusion away, fucking to reclaim the space, the air, the night. His muscles bunched and released. Sweat traced the line of his spine. He was close, again, the coil winding impossibly tight.
Vrinda understood. She leaned over Sanya’s back, her big breasts pressing against the knobs of Sanya’s spine. “On her face,” Vrinda panted into Samarth’s ear. “Do it. Mark her.”
Samarth pulled out, his cock springing free, pulsing. He turned Sanya over with a rough tug. She looked up, dazed, her lips parted. He stroked himself twice, three times, and then the hot stripes landed across her glasses, her cheeks, her open mouth.
She flinched, but then her tongue swiped out, collecting what she could.
Breathing hard, Samarth turned. He faced Rohan directly, his body on display, wet and used and still potent. “Encore over,” he said, his voice gravel.
Rohan hadn’t moved. His smirk was gone. His eyes were dark, absorbing everything. After a long moment, he gave a slow, single nod. Not of approval. Of acknowledgment.
He picked up his backpack and walked to the very front of the bus, slumping into a seat across from the driver’s empty chair. He stared out the windshield into the dark field.
The driver trudged back up the steps then, reeking of cheap cigarettes and misery. He didn’t look back. The doors hissed shut. The engine coughed, roared to life.
The bus lurched forward, back onto the empty road.
In the back, they rearranged themselves in a sticky, silent heap. The thrill was gone, replaced by a weird, hollow exhaustion. Vrinda laid her head on Samarth’s shoulder. Mimansa rested her cheek on his thigh. Sanya curled on the floor near their feet, quietly cleaning her glasses with the hem of her shirt.
Samarth watched the back of Rohan’s head, a dark shape against the moving window. The guy never looked back. He just kept staring ahead, as if waiting for something only he could see in the oncoming night.