Stranger on the Bus – Part 2

Everyone in this story is 18+

I closed the door to my room and let the silence settle. I stripped off my jeans, stretched my sore back, and sank onto the edge of the bed in just boxers and a worn old T-shirt. The kind of comfort you only find when you’ve lived somewhere long enough to stop caring who might see you.

It had been a long day. I’d planned to sit with a drink, maybe flip through a book, ride out the quiet like I always did.

But now I was kind of wired.

Max’s voice echoed in the back of my mind—light, flirty, unexpectedly bold. “Kinda hot, actually.”

I exhaled hard through my nose, rubbing a hand down my face. That kid was… something. He had that soft, careless glow some people carried without knowing it. And the way he’d looked at me—like I was something worth noticing—really noticing…

I shook my head, reaching over to the nightstand and grabbing the small bottle of lube tucked in the drawer. Just a quick relief. Nothing new. Nothing serious.

I leaned back, sliding my boxers down just enough to wrap a hand around myself. Closed my eyes. And of course, it was him I saw.

Max, curled on the couch, shirt riding up over his stomach. That little trail of drool. That sleepy smile. The way he said my name.

Jones…

My hand moved a little faster.

A few minutes in, I heard it—soft footsteps in the hall. I froze.

Then, a light knock.

“Jones?” Max’s voice, quiet but close.

Shit.

I yanked my shirt down and scrambled to adjust myself, flipping the blanket over my lap. “Yeah?”

The door creaked open and there he was—barefoot, wrapped in the blanket I’d given him, hair sticking up like he’d tossed around for an hour. His chest was bare, skin pale and flushed from the light behind him.

“Sorry,” he said, already stepping inside before I could answer. “I can’t sleep.”

I tried to keep my voice even. “That right?”

He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… I don’t know. Too quiet, I guess. Or maybe I’m just still wound up.”

He hovered awkwardly near the door, then caught sight of the blanket in my lap and paused.

His gaze lingered. Eyes dragging slowly back up to mine.

My throat felt dry. “You want something? Water?”

“No,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I mean… yeah, but not water.”

He said it without breaking eye contact.

I wasn’t too experienced but I knew that look. That bold flicker under sleepy lashes. The kind that dared you to say no.

“You sure you’re not just bored?” I asked, voice low.

Max smirked. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the way you looked at me when you thought I wasn’t watching.”

My heart thudded.

He moved closer, slowly, until he was standing at the edge of the bed. Then, without asking, he dropped the blanket. It pooled around his ankles.

He was completely bare. Slim. Smooth. Not shy at all.

“Max—” I started.

But he cut me off, sliding onto the bed, pushing the blanket like it was nothing from my lap. His eyes dropped to my cock—half-hard, still slick from before—and he smiled like he’d won something.

“Were you thinking about me?” he asked softly.

I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He leaned in, pressed a slow kiss to the flushed cock head, and then took me into his mouth in one smooth motion—deep, warm, perfect. My head dropped back against the wall, a groan rumbling out of me.

His tongue worked circles around the tip, then down, taking the head deeper until I hit the back of his throat. He didn’t flinch. Just moaned softly like he was the one being touched.

I buried a hand in his messy hair, jaw clenched, trying not to lose it right there.

“Jesus, Max…”

He pulled off slowly, stroking me with his hand now, lips swollen, red and wet.

“Wanna feel you,” he whispered. “Not just taste you.”

My breath caught. “You want me to fuck you?”

Max shook his head. His voice was firmer now. “No. I want to fuck you.”

The room went still.

I blinked at him, stunned.

“I’ve never…” I started, voice rough.

He leaned in, kissed my jaw. “Then let me.”

My whole body went tight—hot, unsure, buzzing with the ache to say yes.

And fuck it.

I did.

Max kissed down my chest, slow and sure, hands gliding over my sides like he already knew my body. I lay back, tense beneath him, every muscle wired, every breath thick in my throat.

He was smaller than me—lean, smooth, soft in all the places I wasn’t. But right now, he was in charge, and I could feel it in every movement he made.

“You trust me?” he whispered, hovering over me, eyes dark and locked on mine.

I nodded, heart pounding.

“Good,” he said, and kissed me—deep, messy, tongue sliding into my mouth like he owned it.

Then he reached for the lube in the nightstand like he just knew it was there, slicked his fingers, and spread my legs.

Just like that.

I tensed instinctively when he touched me there—tight, unfamiliar—but he took his time. Slow circles, soft pressure, one finger, then two. I gritted my teeth, breathing hard as he worked me open, coaxing me with soft whispers and lips grazing my neck.

“Relax, Jones,” he breathed, curling his fingers just right. “You’re taking it so good.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, eyes fluttering shut. “Max…”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

I didn’t.

I wanted more.

Max was on top of me, straddling my hips, fingers slick and slow as he worked me open. I was already breathing heavy, not just from what he was doing—but from how he looked doing it.

He was beautiful in a way that sneaks up on you. Pale, smooth skin with a slight pink flush across his chest and cheeks. His lean body was wiry but soft—hairless everywhere but that patch of golden pubes above his cock, wild and a little messy, like the rest of him. His cock was long for his size, veiny, hard as fuck, twitching and leaking against his stomach. His balls hung low and tight, bouncing gently with each breath.

Me?

I’m the opposite.

Broad. Rugged. Thicker all over—shoulders, thighs, chest dusted with dark hair that tapers down into a heavy trail straight to a thick, uncut cock. My pubes are dark and coarse, balls heavy and pulled up tight as I feel him line up.

I’d never bottomed before. Never even thought about it seriously.

But now? I wanted him to fuck me.

And god, he did.

He pushed inside slowly, his head slipping past the ring of muscle. I grunted, low and sharp, fingers digging into the sheets.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice soft but firm. “Breathe, Jones.”

He was hot. Not wide, but long enough that I felt every inch. My hole stretched open around him, tight and burning—but it hurt good.

When he was all the way in, he just stayed there, chest heaving. We both were frozen in that moment. Sweating and trembling to keep up.

“You feel unreal,” he said, voice thick. “Can’t believe I’m inside you.”

“Don’t get cocky,” I grunted, but fuck—it was hard to stay tough when I felt so… full.

Then he started to move.

He rocked his hips slowly at first, dragging his cock out just far enough to make me feel the loss, then slamming back in. The slap of skin, the creak of the bed, my sharp breaths—it all blurred together.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growled. “I’m not gonna last long.”

I growled right back. “Then give it to me.”

And he fucking did.

He grabbed my legs, pressed them up, and fucked me. Hard, fast, deep—his smooth thighs slapping against mine, his balls bouncing with each thrust. I watched his face—lips parted, brows furrowed, hair falling into his eyes as he moaned my name.

My cock was hard again, leaking pre onto my stomach, untouched.

He grabbed it with one hand, stroked me while slamming into me, and I damn near lost it.

“Max—” I gasped, voice breaking.

“Let go for me,” he said. “Cum while I’m inside you.”

That was it.

I exploded, hot and messy across my chest, yelling his name, my body clenching tight around his cock as he kept pounding through my orgasm.

He barely lasted five more strokes before he slammed in deep, trembling, and let out a raw, gasping moan. I felt him pump inside me, warm and thick, and he collapsed onto my chest, shaking.

We lay there for a long moment, sweaty and sticky.

Then I kissed his forehead.

“You good?” he asked, breath still shallow.

I smirked, cupping the back of his neck. “Yeah. More than good.”

But I was still rock-hard, so I flipped him.

His eyes went wide as I pinned him to the mattress, still sticky from my cum, legs spread, his hole glistening with the mix of his own orgasm and lube.

“My turn,” I said, grabbing his thighs. “And I’m not taking it slow.”

His breath hitched. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

I spit in my hand, grabbed my cock—still hard, slick with his cum leaking from me—and put my heavy cock on his hole. No teasing now.

I slammed into him in one brutal thrust, and Max screamed, but not in pain, in pleasure.

His back arched off the bed, fingers clawing at my arms as I fucked into him deep and rough. He was tighter than I expected—even after what he just did to me—and the way he whimpered under me made my cock throb.

I grabbed his ankles, folded him in half, and pounded into him, balls slapping his ass, sweat dripping from my forehead onto his chest.

“You wanted this?” I growled. “You like filling me up? Now I’m gonna fuck that cocky smile right off your face.”

“Do it,” he begged. “Use me. Fuck me harder.”

So I did.

I fucked him like I owned him. My pubes matted to his ass, my balls slapping against him as I buried every inch. His hole clung to me, slick and messy from both our cum, making obscene wet and sloppy sounds every time I drove in.

His cock—still hard—twitched untouched against his stomach.

“Stroke yourself, cum again” I ordered.

He obeyed immediately, moaning as he fisted himself in rhythm with my thrusts. It was messy and hot as hell.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m gonna nut again—” he gasped.

“Do it,” I growled. “Cum while I’m deep inside your ass.”

And he did.

His second orgasm hit harder than the first—his body locking up, cum shooting across his chest and face as he cried out.

I buried myself one last time, holding deep as I unleashed a torrent of semen inside him— hard and hot, filling him so completely that it spilled out the moment I pulled my spent and sore cock free.

He collapsed back, boneless, eyes glassy, chest heaving.

I flopped down beside him, both of us a fucking mess.

He turned to me, cum on his cheek, breathless and grinning.

“That was…” he started, then laughed. “Okay, that was worth missing my stop.”