A Steamy, Bumpy Ride Home

"Stop… please stop… There are too many of you. You'll break me."

On the bus back to the village, three rugged men from my hometown spread my legs apart and tore a hole right through the middle of my stockings.

Steve Axwell, who lived opposite, said lecherously.

"Kendall, I've watched you grow up. Let me check if you've started growing hair down there yet."

Under the gaze of those big, strong men, I felt a mix of ache and itch. I couldn't stop myself from getting wet.

"You're this soaked, and you've never been with a man? Don't worry—today, we're going to satisfy you real good."

My name was Kendall Bailey. I was a freshman in college.

Ever since my boyfriend took my virginity, I'd wanted it every single day. If I went a day without it, my whole body would ache.

Now that winter break had started, I held in my hunger and headed back home.

My family lived in a village in Hendeine. It was a long trip—two days by train, then another half day on the village bus.

The moment I stepped onto the bus, I felt countless hungry eyes lock onto me.

The bus was packed with rugged men who worked the fields—every last one of them strong, lean, and dark from the sun. The worn-out cabin reeked of male hormones.

After holding myself back for two days, I was already aching. Now, the itch was unbearable. If I held it in any longer, I was afraid my insides would burn up.

The bus was nearly full of men. Lugging my suitcase, I found an empty seat near the back.

Right next to me sat a migrant worker in a blue-collar uniform, grinning at me with a lecherous look.

That's when I realized how out of place I was.

I was wearing a soft little pink skirt, and my legs were wrapped in a pair of skin-colored stockings.

His face crinkled with wrinkles as he smiled, eyes dropping to my thighs.

"Girl, it's the middle of winter and you ain't wearin' pants. Your legs ain't cold?"

I relaxed—my stockings looked so real he thought I was bare-legged.

"These are stockings, actually. Here, feel for yourself."

His thick, rough palm landed on my thigh. It was calloused and coarse.

The feel of that hand only made me hungrier. He even slipped his fingers up toward the hem of my skirt and gave me a squeeze underneath.

"Well, I'll be. They are stockings. Real smooth, too." He pulled the fabric of my stockings up and let it snap back down with a smack.

His grin widened, and suddenly something about it felt familiar.

It reminded me of Steve Axwell, my neighbor.

"Wait… are you Steve Axwell?"

The moment he heard that, the flesh on his face twitched.

"How d'you know me?"

It really was him!

I quickly said, "I'm Kendall. My dad's Richard Bailey. I haven't been back in years."

Ever since I got into the big city high school, I'd barely come home. I hadn't seen Steve in years.

From middle school graduation to college, I'd developed fast—I was nothing like that shy, red-faced little girl anymore.

Steve grabbed my hand, excited.

"Ah—it's Kendall! You've grown so much, I didn't even recognize you. I've watched you since you were a kid. Never thought you'd turn out this beautiful."

At that, a few other rugged men crowded around. They started talking over each other, sizing me up.

"So that's Richard's daughter. Look how soft and pretty she is."

"I remember you running around the village in split-crotch pants. And now look at you—all grown up."

"Back then, you were bare as a peach down there. You got hair yet?"

Small village folks have no filters. One of them just came right out and asked if I'd grown any pubic hair yet. Surrounded by all these men, I felt so shy it burned.

My desires were stirred even more, and I curled my toes hard without even realizing it.