The ride

“Oh my,” she’d murmured, wriggling to adjust herself. “How dreadfully cramped this is.”

The van had rattled and lurched through the streets, the three men chatting, their voices thick with amusement as Linda tried to sit perfectly still. But each bump in the road bounced her on the strangers lap, and each bounce made the hard length under her press insistently against her thighs.

Now the van slowed. The driver, the oldest, barked at some traffic. The middle-aged one fiddled with the radio. And suddenly, the brakes screeched.

The van jolted. Linda gave a startled squeak, her satchel sliding from her arms. She pitched forward, and before she could fall, a broad, rough hand shot out to steady her.

Not on her arm. Not on her shoulder. But under her blouse.

Fingers slid up, cupping her breast through her bra, warm and firm.

“Oh!” Linda gasped, blinking down at the hand clutching her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly against it. “Goodness gracious!”

The workman smirked. “Only keeping you safe, love. Can’t have you tumbling about, can we?”

Linda flushed hot all over. She should be scandalized. She should slap his hand away. But instead she sat frozen, the thick palm pressing against her tit, her nipple stiffening shamelessly under the thin cotton of her bra.

“Th-thank you,” she whispered breathlessly.

The men chuckled.

And then the young one shifted beneath her. His voice was rough, teasing. “Oi. You’ve gone and ruined my trackies.”

Linda blinked, confused. She twisted slightly to look at him. He gestured down. And sure enough, the pale grey fabric of his tracksuit bottoms was darkened. Damp. Right where her bare cunt pressed down against him.

Her hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh heavens! That’s me, isn’t it?” she gasped. “I’ve — I’ve dribbled all over you.”

The men roared with laughter.

Linda wrung her hands, her whole body trembling with shame and delight. “Oh dear, oh dear, I really must have them dry-cleaned for you. I insist.”

The young one arched a brow. “With what money, love? You already gave your knickers away.”

Linda faltered. “Oh. Well. Yes. That is rather true.”

She sat in silence for a moment, chewing her lip, her pussy throbbing against his lap. Then, with a sudden bright idea, she perked up, smiling sweetly.

“Well! I suppose I’ve still my brassiere. That must be worth something.”

The van went silent. Three pairs of eyes shot to her chest.

Linda giggled nervously, tugging at the hem of her blazer. “Yes, yes, it’s only fair. My blouse is dreadfully tight, after all. I could always do without it.”

She began unbuttoning her blouse, slow and dainty, until the lacy cups of her bra peeked through. White, snug, her nipples already straining against the fabric.

The men whistled low.

Linda smiled shyly. “Of course, if I’m to part with it, you must guess my size first. With your hands, naturally. Otherwise, how would you know?”

The youngest groaned under her. The middle-aged one reached first, both hands cupping her breasts, squeezing, weighing them like ripe fruit.

“Hmm,” he muttered. “Good handful. C-cup, I’d wager.”

Linda gasped softly at the bold squeeze, her body arching helplessly. “Oh! How very clinical of you.”

The older man leaned in, his gnarled hands surprisingly steady. He palmed her tit roughly, thumb dragging over her nipple. “No, no. Bit more on her, this one. I’d say D.”

Linda shuddered, a whimper escaping her lips. Her breasts were kneaded, weighed, tugged, the guesses debated.

The young one beneath her laughed, his hands sliding under her open blouse to join the others. He cupped her tits, pushing them together, watching the creamy flesh spill over the cups. “Nah. Not quite that big. I’d put her at a full C. Maybe a small D. Either way, bloody perfect.”

Linda moaned, her head falling back, her bra stretched taut. “Oh my word… I do declare, I’ve never been so… so thoroughly examined.”

The van swerved slightly as the driver glanced over, watching her tits being pawed.

“Tell us, love,” the middle-aged one demanded. “What size are they?”

Linda giggled, her cheeks scarlet. “Thirty-two… C.”

The men groaned in triumph. Hands squeezed tighter, tugging at the straps, fumbling with the clasp. Linda’s breath came in gasps as her bra was unclipped, peeled away, and tossed aside. Her breasts tumbled free, heavy and bare, nipples stiff and flushed from all the attention.

“There,” Linda said softly, voice trembling with giddy shame. “Now you can see for yourselves.”

The van filled with the sound of her tits being slapped, squeezed, kneaded. Her nipples pinched, tugged. She moaned, dizzy, her thighs quivering around the lap she straddled.

The young man beneath her hissed through his teeth. “Christ, she’s soaking me through. She’s dripping.”

Linda gave a breathless laugh, bouncing slightly on his lap as the van hit a bump. “Oops! Oh dear, I can’t seem to help it. I’m frightfully excitable today.”

The driver barked a laugh. “Excitable’s one word for it.”

Linda gasped again as fingers flicked her nipples, her tits wobbling with every lurch of the van. She was perched high, exposed, giggling through her moans.

And still, deep down, her thoughts were airy, ditzy, prim even as her body betrayed her.

“Oh, how silly of me,” she murmured breathlessly, breasts swaying in their rough hands. “I only wanted a lift home, and now I’ve gone and lost my knickers and my brassiere. What will my laundry look like this week?”

The men roared with laughter again, squeezing her harder, and Linda’s giggles dissolved into helpless moans as her nipples were rolled between calloused fingers, her cunt grinding shamelessly against the wet patch she’d made on his tracksuit bottoms.

Her first ride home had become something far, far naughtier and Linda, dizzy and dripping, loved every second.