Bus incident or my wife’s second rape. Part 1

The bus was overcrowded. People, gasping from the heat, stood, as they say, tightly together.

Natasha and I were like two herrings in that barrel, which is always remembered on buses, at rush hour.

But before, my wife loved it when I, in anticipation of good sex, literally smeared her pliable body on my heroic chest. Now it’s not the same. Ten years of marital experience … Sad.

As a rule, people on the bus sway slowly. Involuntarily rub against each other. And someone, perhaps, with pleasure. A friend of mine – so he specially traveled in overcrowded buses. She will attach herself to a young lady and rub herself well. We used to go with him, I see he was rubbing himself. I pull back – I don’t know him – and I myself watch the girl’s face. A friend always chose modest ones. Modest people do not like to make trouble. I’m watching. At first – until she notices the club resting against her – the face is calm. Then – surprise, anxiety, confusion. He tries to look around imperceptibly – who is the hooligan there? The trick is that the girls, in such cases, had the opportunity to pretend that she did not notice anything. Otherwise, you have to react! Shouting, making trouble, but a modest girl will not do this, she cannot – she is shy. So he endures impudent harassment, stands, with an expression of suffering on his face. My friend, a scoundrel, got to the point that he began to use his hands, to get into his panties. But also, carefully, stealthily, again, giving the opportunity to pretend to be insensitive.

I remembered all this while rocking on the bus, close to my dear wife. Feeling of full contact. Chest, abdomen, breathing. The scent of her perfume overpowered the sweaty crowd. I was even slightly aroused, especially since we hadn’t had sex for several days. Nothing, come home – we’ll catch up. Shower first. Then a gentle striptease. Gently and slowly. Stretching the wait. The first, chaste kiss on the neck … light stroking of the buttocks: languid sighs:

Several tipsy guys squeezed into the bus, along with the vodka spirit. Looking around with displeasure, I saw only drunken faces.

After a couple of minutes, Natasha began looking around indignantly. But it was almost impossible to move. It was felt that she, with a grimace of disgust, was trying to distance herself from the guy standing behind. A tall bully with gold teeth. Dull eyes, stupid grin. Clear. Rubs, gets high. Well, I do not! Okay, a friend rubbed himself in – so after all to strangers! And here, my own wife! It is necessary to leave, to move forward:

The click of the knockout knife made me freeze. The sharp blade bit into the buttock slightly.

  • Stay quiet, fellow countryman, let’s go further – behind they laughed.

What to do? Make noise, be indignant? Easily poke with a pen. And the people around … I knew these people very well! If only not me! My hut is on the edge and my shirt is closer to the body. However, is it worth condemning them? I myself would have thought three times before throwing myself on a gang of drunken blatars who have a knife in their pocket.

So I stood, pressed against my wife, propped up with a knife, feeling how a fellow with a drunken mug was rubbing against her. As my friend, only rougher, of course. However, is it just rubbing? Maybe he is… ? No, it’s impossible … right here on the bus … although … who knows.

  • Well, what do you … do not need … what are you ?! – Natasha whispered, trying in vain to move away.

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