The bus ride home was an odd choice of highlight for Heather's day but when you work at one end of the line and live at the other, you are both guaranteed a seat for the whole journey and have plenty of time to read a book, browse the web or just sit back and relax for an hour.
On this day, she decided to spend the ride home doing the latter; one of the perks of having to bus across London at 6pm on a November evening is that the river view is spectacular in the dark, arguably one of the best man-made sights a person can behold. So that's what Heather did, she just watched the greatest city in the world zoom by whilst the bus filled up around her.
Twenty minutes later, to say the bus was standing room only was like saying that Greece is in a bit of debt. The vehicle was jam-packed from front to back and Heather was blissfully unaware, content to consider the potential nature of Bernie's Cafe (pronounced Kaff), Ali Baba Kebabs and Many of the other establishments that had inherited the spot in Heather's eye-line that before was inhabited by Big Ben, Tower Bridge and the London Eye. But to Heather this honest and down to Earth part of the city was equally as beautiful as the glamourous sights of the city centre.
A thunderous sneeze from a suited man behind her momentarily burst the daydream bubble she had created for herself as she instinctively turned to glance at the sneeze's creator. It was then that she first noticed the girl that was sat beside her and it was the best she could do not to gasp in astonishment, for this girl was incredible. She couldn't have been much older than twenty-one years old but it was already clear that God's work was done with this one and he could put more time into improving some of his less successful creations.
The girl was East Asian, probably Japanese or Korean was Heather's guess. She was wearing one of those one-piece, figure-hugging dresses that men are never sure if it is supposed to be a long t-shirt or a really short dress and boy what a figure it had been given to hug. Her breasts were in reality probably no bigger than Heather's own but when transferred to what was surely no bigger than a 5ft 2" frame, it was as if the girl had got on the bus after shoplifting a couple of watermelons. Added to this she had legs that seemed to go on forever despite such a diminutive owner; an effect most likely accentuated by the scandalously short dress and insanely high heels that added a good few perceived inches of viewing pleasure to each end.
By this point Heather was aware that she was staring which for a straight woman such as herself, was quite an unexpected thing to find herself doing. What further surprised her was that upon scanning the bus there seemed to be not one guying even throwing an inquisitive glance in the girl's direction which was just madness. If she couldn't help but gawk at this girl on first glance then surely every guy on the bus should have been trying the old James Bond-esque – 'Of course I'm not looking at that girl's tits, I was just reading the poster behind her about how much bus drivers earn' – routine. Yet without exception each and every guy there seemed to be genuinely reading, chatting on the phone or just staring into space.
The lack of any reaction on the girl's face who herself was reading a book in whatever language it was that she assumed was used in her country of origin reassured Heather that her little admiration session may have gone unnoticed and so she tried to return her thoughts back to the sights and sounds of South London.
A few minutes later, as the bus passed that cute little Lebanese place that she promised herself that she was going to try one day but after three years of riding past it every day still hadn't, Heather felt something on her knee. She glanced down but there was nothing to see other than the stonewash jeans she had changed into before walking to the bus stop.
Heather returned her gaze to the window and the second she did so she once again felt something on her knee, but it wasn't just something this time, it was a hand, and somebody was stroking her knee. Heather looked down once more yet again there was no perpetrator to be seen. Every passenger within a viable proximity was too deeply engrossed in their own affairs to be the guilty party. The only logical deduction was that her mind had to be playing tricks on her for some reason.
So once again Heather's thoughts drifted out the window and once again she felt somebody's touch on her knee. She tried to ignore the sensation but as the seconds passed, the stroking sensation evolved into a caress. Heather strived to convince herself that whatever this was was in her head but the sensation was beginning to move towards her crotch. As stealthily as she could, Heather tried one more time to catch her assailant in the act but the closest limbs she could see were the ones firmly grasping the book being read by the Asian girl. The hand that was running its way up her thigh was purely a figment of her imagination.
The problem for Heather though was that this figment had now arrived at her crotch and the pressure it was applying was feeling any less real even with her staring straight at the offending region of empty space. An imaginary index finger began to rub in the general area of Heather's pussy and she tried to squirm in a way that both could avoid it and not disturb the girl beside her.
The non-hand had other ideas though. Heather was continuing to wrestle with the nothingness when she felt the zip of her jeans being undone. After a brief gasp of shock, she tried to stand but couldn't as two more invisible hands pinned her to her seat. She tried to scream but the second she opened her mouth it filled with something long, thick and rubbery even though there was nothing to be seen.
Her eyes moved around the bus as if to silently cry out for somebody to help her, but the now emptying bus's passengers seemed completely oblivious to her plight. Over the next couple of minutes a further set of hands had grabbed Heather's wrists and cuffed them behind her before finding their way inside her t-shirt in search of her breasts. The original imaginary hand was now free to get back to work on Heather's jeans and duly began to unzip them.
Only they weren't being unzipped. Heather could feel them being unzipped and discarded on the floor beneath her with the panties quickly following, yet when she looked down she was still fully clothed.
Heather didn't know if she was dreaming or going mad but there was no possibility that this could be happening; her body and mind were telling her that an unseen hand had begun to rub her pussy whilst two others were unclasping her bra and setting to work on her breasts. Her eyes on the other hand told her that none of this was occurring at all and she was just sitting quietly on the bus fully clothed. The reaction of the nine or so remaining bus travelers seemed to corroborate this view.
However, the anxiety of not knowing whether she was being stripped and gagged by an invisible gang or having a fully clothed nervous breakdown quickly got replaced by the next development: these invisible hands, real or imaginary, really knew their stuff. Her pussy began to twitch as two invisible fingers plunged deep inside her whilst another handled the clitoris. The hands inside her t-shirt complimented this with a variety of gropes, tweaks and pinches that caused her body to visibly shudder and shake to the extent that the Asian girl beside must have noticed no matter how deeply buried inside her book she appeared to be.
Heather tried to fight the onslaught of pleasure at first, but the vague belief that none of this was actually happening made it easier to accept everything as one sexy daydream from which she would awaken when the bus reached her stop. By now her pussy was dripping invisibly and her nipples were hard as diamonds but the hands still had more tricks up their sleeves. Seeming to take Heather's acceptance to be pleasure as a sign to carry on regardless, Heather felt a new group of sensations fall upon her and this time it wasn't hands, it was heads.
At least Heather assumed they were heads to begin with, but she soon realized that she was mistaken. The new bodies that had now found their way to her pussy and each breast were in fact mouths; they had tongues (if it were possible for a tongue to be that long and flexible) but there was nothing else. These three mouths set to work where the hands had laid their ground work and Heather could feel the first plunge itself deep inside her, thrusting as far as an above average cock but with the lingual dexterity of a cobra. Mouths two and three were alternating between soft sensual kisses all over her breasts with purposeful sucking and the occasional light nibble of the nipple.