Student Bodies - in Spain Vol. 05

But back to the bus.

I had almost died of shame the first time I exposed my breasts in public on the beach. They were not very big, but I know now that they can be attractive. I died again when the boys bought us the white see-through swimming costumes and again when they made us walk along the street.

I was comfortable with our boys and would show them anything, or, as has been proved, do anything with them. I even got a buzz rather than an embarrassed thrill from exposing myself 'accidentally' to the pool cleaner. I would lie there like the others with my legs apart pretending to be asleep while I watched him beneath my sunglasses.

But Joe Public, that was still different.

At the start of the holiday we would walk everywhere, it was only a couple of kilometres into the heart of the town and it was fun to walk and stop off at a bar or two. When we started going to the nudist beach on the far side of town it got different. It was too far, so we took the Bus.

The bus was a small single-decker with a row of about seven or eight single seats in a row on one side and the rest was standing space with leather straps hanging from metal poles. Fully laden it would take about twenty-five people, but at school throwing out time I am sure they would squeeze forty or fifty in. It just ran through the town from a mile or two past us, to a new building site a couple of miles the other side of the nudist beach.

We were travelling into town one evening, feeling a little lazy and the bus was pretty full. I was standing next to Lucy with our backs against the large rear window, talking to Josh and Pete who were strap-hanging in front of us. The boys had waved to a couple of pretty girls on scooters and in a show of bravado we had turned around and waved to a couple of local boys in a car following close behind. Josh must have felt a little jealous because, he put his arms around Lucy in a show of ownership. The boys hooted their horn and laughed so Josh cupped his hands over her breasts and played with them. This caused much merriment to them and amongst us. Pete took it a little further and, turning me away from them, slowly lifted the back of my skirt to show them my panties, or at least the black g-string that I was wearing that night.

I know I coloured up and tried to slap his hands away, but he squeezed me tight and held me like that until our stop arrived a few moments later. Later that night going home Hannah and Sarah got the same treatment, showing off their bums to the following cars head lights. Over the next few days, as you can imagine, our breasts and bums were shown out of the back and even out of the sides of the Bus.

Their imagination knew no bounds. One dreadful, wonderful?, early evening we were made to take it in turns to stand facing backwards in front of the rear window and pull the fronts of our skirts up ourselves, as if we were enjoying flashing the two lads in the following car. They certainly got an eyeful of our underwear. Half the thrill was not knowing what they would make us do next. Would they want us to take off our panties and wave them? They obviously never thought of it because it never actually happened. In the deep recesses of my mind though, I kept hoping that they would tell me to do just that. What an exhibitionist slut I am becoming.

Things reached a new level when we started going to the nudist beach. On about the third or fourth occasion, the boys told us that as we never used bathers on the beach there was no point in wearing them there. They would do the same. A towel or a sarong would be sufficient. Even they knew we would get arrested if we started travelling naked. Wouldn't we? They certainly would have because, now, most of the time the boys spent on the bus they had erections, and that would certainly get them arrested.

We took a long time to get ready that first morning. I wore a towel around my waist and hips and a sarong folded two or three times over my bust. This worked, maintained my modesty and looked attractive.

Of course it was too good to last and they changed the rules the next day. 'One item of clothing only.' I was told.

The trouble was that the towels were too short and, if tied firmly around my bust only came half way down my thigh. The sarong on the other hand was fairly see-through.

I settled for the sarong which, because I was quite petite could be folded twice before encircling me. Not all the other girls could get away with that however so Cindy, for example, ended up wearing a large white towel, which looked wonderful on her particularly as it only came part of the way down her thigh. She knew that the driver had seen that she was wearing no bikini bottoms when climbing the steps onto the Bus.

The drivers of course never complained. In fact, I think they slowed down when they approached our home stop, hoping to find us waiting.

Whenever anything unusual happened on the Bus the guys would capitalise on it and find some way to embarrass us. One day early afternoon, on our way to the beach after a slightly boozy lunch, the Bus stopped to let on what seemed to be the entire contents of a local Seminary. We were standing, strap-hanging, as usual. We were normally too discreet to sit down, the towels gaped or the sarongs showed more flesh.

As the young men started pouring onto the bus, Josh and our boys moved to stand behind us, so that we formed a sort of barrier between the two groups.

'Right girls,' he said. 'Both hands on the straps please and a 'smacking' tonight if you remove them from the straps before we alight. My sarong was tied at the side, covering my breasts with a double rolled thickness, dropping to almost knee length in the double thickness. There were two problems that I could foresee however. Firstly, it was very silky and the moment my nipples started to harden, as they were now, they showed right through. Secondly it fell open from under my arm to the hem at my knee. Anyone looking at it from the side could see that I wore nothing under it.

At first the young men kept a respectful distance. After all they were trainee priests weren't they. They tried not to touch us, but the bus really was packed and slowly they were accidentally rubbing up against us. I use the word accidentally and while that was undoubtedly true of most of them, some of them were relishing the situation. Frankie was standing next to me with a towel wrapped around her. Suddenly I saw Pete's hand appear over her shoulder and deliberately loosen the roll of towel over her breasts. I knew that if it slipped, she would be left naked, or maybe she would grab it and face a smacking. What would she do?

I hardly had time to think before I felt a hand, that I found out later was Chris's, insinuating itself between my sarong and body at waist height. I held my breath. What was he going to do. I felt the hand run up my body, over my breast and then down again over my hip and briefly between my legs before withdrawing. Not only had that really turned me on, stroking me in public, but it had obviously given this other young man ideas. He saw that all the time I had not moved my hands from the rail.

His hand tentatively touched my waist over my sarong. Was he steadying himself against the movement of the Bus. I held my breath. His hand stayed put as the bus swayed the other way. As it swayed it gave him space to look down the side and I knew that he could see it was open. His hand inched under my sarong to the back of my waist. It slowly dropped and I felt just the gentlest of touches on my right buttock. He was looking into my eyes. I was biting my lip, incredibly turned on.

His touch got firmer as he cupped my cheek and pressed against me. The next sway of the bus allowed him to move his hand back to my waist but under the front of my sarong. The back of his hand caressed my skin until I felt it running up my breasts and over my nipple. He squeezed it between two of his fingers before dropping his hand back down my body.

I was dripping with both perspiration and arousal. I could feel myself salivating along my lower lips. Please, please make him stop. I thought about removing my hand but had been conditioned to stay holding on. Was I to be the subject of his next academic essay. 'A funny thing happened to me on the way home.'

His knuckles slipped down my pudenda and his hand opened out and scrabbled. He had been expecting hair. His mouth fell open and I almost laughed as he closed against me as the bus pulled to a halt. As he was slipping his fingers into my sticky love-pot I heard Josh behind me saying 'Our stop girls, don't stand there blocking the way.' I almost screamed with frustration as this poor, lucky, guy raised his sticky fingers to his nose and I rushed past him red-faced. I will be surprised if he ever got ordained.

I had forgotten poor Frankie. What had happened to her?

She had spent, she said, a miserable five minutes. Was that all it was? She had puffed up her chest to tighten the rolled towel, only to find that Pete was slowly tugging the base of the towel. She had been saved in the nick of time by our arrival at the stop and more to the point, by the fact that the bus was so crowded, the towel had little space to drop. The young men were pushing too tightly against her. She did have a bruise coming up on her thigh though where one of the other guys pinched her leg on the way out.

I was all for travelling that time of day again. I had almost orgasmed, just standing there anticipating what might happen next. I did not think that we would get away as lightly another time, but who am I kidding, I would have been happy to stand there for another ten minutes or so.

Our boys recognised that there was fun to be had here and would occasionally try to time our journey to coincide with the seminary closing for the day. Because the bus was fairly narrow not all the girls could be on the 'front line', as it were. Some days I was there at the front and other days I would be frustrated by not getting felt up at all.

They were always polite, never arrogant, but as time moved on there was nothing surreptitious about their movements.

There were only three or four of the guys who had the nerve to fondle us. The rest just looked on in amazement. Usually, one of them would be standing in front of one of us girls, just one on one. They would be playing with our tits, arse or fannies, and always we had to stand holding onto the straps. We were not to let go. Somehow it was easier when you knew what was going to happen. Nonetheless we would all get off the Bus really horny and ready for fun and games when we arrived home.

In the mornings, as we gradually got used to being naked around the beach and even in the bar at the end of the beach, we worried less about what we were wearing on the bus.

Sarongs ended up the favourite. They were attractive and at the same time fairly see-through. We would usually tie them with a good secure knot under one arm. The boys would often try to loosen them, not enough for them to fall to the ground, but just enough for us to worry that they might. Occasionally one did slip, was quickly caught and that girl got a bare-arsed smacking in the lounge that evening before going out.

Funnily enough Cindy's sarong seemed to slip more than the rest. I guess she liked the smacking more than the rest of us. A couple of times the lads would tug away at the knots and move them from under our arm, perhaps around to the middle of our backs, or even on occasions over our breasts. This meant that the gap between the sides, closed when standing still, but open when we were moving or the wind caught it, was directly over our bum cracks or even pussies.

They first did it when we were alone on the bus. They had us stand in a circle facing out towards the windows, where we appeared quite chaste, covered from just below the shoulders to the knee. When we were made to turn around and the wind caught the sarongs we showed all of our bums. The Bus driver got a particularly big eyeful as we got off beside him.

The boys, of course, were never satisfied, the next time when the bus was busier they did it again. The locals and the other male beach-goers could not do anything but stare. They never made us go 'too' far when there were females, or youngsters, local or otherwise, on the Bus.

They would never for example have pushed the knots around to the front as they did when it turned out to be an all-male Bus.

Their eyes were on stalks as we were almost all shaved, bare as a baby's bottom in fact, and with our hands on the straps there was nothing to stop the gaps widening.

Quite often getting onto the bus it was fairly quiet, there were not many pick-up points before the beach. On these occasions for the drivers benefit we were made to push the knots to the front and boarding the three big steps up just pushed the sarongs wide on each side. It was probably sexier than being completely naked. Our breasts were covered by a tight, flimsy, silky covering and our nipples would always have been erect.

I knew we were in trouble one evening at the end of the holiday. The bus pulled up and we were told to move the sarong knots forward. I had seen that al least the first couple of seats were occupied by men. As we climbed the stairs, sarongs billowing wide, we saw that all seven seats were filled with workmen from the hotel building complex at the end of the line. They stared in amazement, little wicked grins beginning to appear.

Naturally the boys made us line up beside the seats and hold on to the straps above our heads. We had all turned our back on the labourers but I was still worried.

I saw Josh feel in his pocket and produce a coin. 'Heads we turn 'em round boys. Tails we just grope them a little to show the men we can.'

My heart stopped. Both alternatives were equally as bad. I knew that if the boys groped us and then pulled back they would be leaving the door open for the men, and... as for turning around. Well!

Heads! 'Sorry girls, luck of the spin,' he laughed.

I was in two minds to disobey, the punishment surely could not be worse later.

I sneaked a look at the men over my shoulder. I noticed that all the ones I could see were now sitting facing in, towards the bus, almost waiting for us to turn. Whether they had understood the English I do not know.

My mind was made up by the sight of Josh moving forward and turning Frankie, who was last on and at the other end of the line, towards the men. I was never going to be embarrassed like that, so turned of my own accord, as did all the others. It was almost as if it had been choreographed and made it so obvious that it would probably have been better to have been facing that way in the first place. The men were practically licking their lips and their hands were ready for action.

As I mentioned, I had got onto the bus first and had moved up the line of men. There were seven seats, all of them full and I was standing between the back two men. Every other girl was standing in front of one man. I had two!

They looked at each other and slowly each put a hand on my hips, to see if I complained. I didn't of course. My heart was racing twenty to the dozen, my nipples were standing out and rock hard and my vulva was beginning to moisten.

I could not have told you whether I was looking forward to the next five or six minutes or not. Surely they couldn't do this on a Bus!

They could and did. I was well and truly groped by both men with both hands. I was like putty practically hanging from the straps. My legs had opened, my feet were now wide apart, partly because they had pushed them apart, partly I had done it myself so that I could enjoy it more. They were each playing with a titty and were taking it in turns to push their coarse, dirty fingers up my vagina. I felt one of them exploring my arse hole and I found myself lowering myself from the straps to ease access. I had a little orgasm and was starting on a bigger one. This was so excruciatingly dirty. I could have killed Josh and the boys. The bus was stopping I noticed, now in the middle of town. There were people about to board and Josh, quite rightly I am afraid, told us to move over to the far windows to let the people board in comfort. Comfort. I desperately needed to come, but obediently dragged my wobbly legs to the other side of the bus to be surrounded, and protected by the boys. When we reached our stop it was all I could do not to invite the men to get off the bus with us and come in for a fuck. I knew the boys would not have liked it, so just made do with grabbing the nearest lad, which happened to be Pete, and dragging him off to my bedroom. I could hear similar fucking noises coming from all over the house. That was just one night we were a little late going out.

You can understand from my tale that I cannot now go on a Bus without thinking back to the holiday. I sit there, usually upstairs if I can, close to the back, and rub myself to a small orgasm if there is no-one watching. I can remember the incidents as if they were yesterday, which unfortunately they weren't. I am not that stupid that I do not know how dangerous it would be to try to copy any of the antics we got up to on the bus, let alone the last one. But I can still dream.