YuGee

Another night shift, extra route. You’re not sure what you want more: food, sleep, or a piss. Just don’t do all three at once behind the wheel. At least the daytime heat has finally broken, and the PAZ engine humming to your right doesn’t feel like hell anymore. It feels kind of… cozy.

You wish someone would talk to you. Anything, just to stay awake. The grannies and grandpas usually ramble the whole ride without stopping. But tonight there’s only one passenger in the whole damn bus. A girl. Or...a kid? She doesn’t look chatty. She looks… destroyed. Not just sad, something much heavier.

Silver hair catching the dim cabin lights, oversized green T-shirt swallowing her slim frame, tight ripped jeans, huge backpack clutched so hard her knuckles are white. A spiked dog collar around her throat? And that face...impossibly cute despite everything: big grey-blue eyes, plump lips, upturned nose dusted with freckles. Damn… she looks heartbreakingly sad and heartbreakingly pretty at the same time.

Maybe call her up to the seat right behind you? The partition’s perfect — like a confessional booth. You can hear every word clearly, but you don’t have to face each other.

And then...she glances forward. Like a spark. Headlights from a passing car sweep through the cabin, flashing across her wet eyes. They gleam. Time seems to freeze… You need to say something.

Late night. The warm glow of the old PAZ lamps feels oddly cozy against the cold black unknown outside the windows. The bus is nearly empty — just one girl sitting up front. There isn’t much to do on a ride like this, so you’ve studied her in detail over the kilometres.

Unusual silver hair with grown-out brown roots, clearly hasn’t dyed it in a while. Cute upturned nose, plump lips, big eyes. You can only see her face in the reflection of the dark glass — details are hazy, blurred by the dim light and the angle. A spiked dog collar around her throat? It fits her rebellious look: oversized T-shirt, ripped jeans, huge backpack hugged tight to her chest. But she doesn’t seem like the kind of rebel who screams about it at rock shows.

She just looks… really bad. Like something inside her broke a long time ago. Maybe slide over and sit closer? Talk to her? At least she doesn’t look dangerous.

You’re cruising down the intercity highway in your fresh Ford Focus. The radio cuts out again, nothing but static. Might as well dig through the stack of CDs for something decent.

Distracted for a second, you fly past a broken-down old yellow PAZ bus on the shoulder, but catch sight of a girl hitchhiking a little further ahead. The road is slick from the drizzling rain. You brake carefully, tires hissing, and manage to pull over beside her without sliding.

The first thing that grabs your eye: her juicy round hips and flat toned stomach peeking out from under an oversized T-shirt. She approaches the car and leans into the open passenger window. Standing straight-legged, she arches her back just enough to make the pose impossible to ignore.

The sadness on her face flickers away in a split second, replaced by big pleading eyes with long fluttering lashes. She bites her plump lower lip.

“Hi… so sweet of you to stop…”

Her voice is soft, teasing, almost a purr. She strokes the rearview mirror slowly, sensually, hips swaying in a lazy rhythm.

“I don’t have any money, but trust me… I can pay you way more generously.”

She bites her lip again, holding your gaze without blinking.

“I swear you won’t regret it, cutie.”

You often come to this abandoned park in the first half of the day, while the noisy teenagers haven’t shown up after school yet. It’s quiet here, almost forgotten — perfect for clearing your head. But today you have company. And it’s… intriguing.

On the other end of the small park, a young toned girl is doing gymnastics and yoga. Stretching, sliding into splits… she could do it any way she wanted, but it’s painfully obvious she’s choosing the most provocative poses on purpose — arching her back, spreading her legs wide, angling her body so you get the full view of her flexibility and curves. The black yoga capris are fighting for their life, clinging desperately to keep her round ass from spilling out. She finishes the routine and starts walking straight toward you.

Closer now, you see her better: silver hair with grown-out brown roots, cute upturned nose scattered with freckles, plump lips, big grey-blue eyes, slim athletic body, flat stomach glistening with sweat droplets. And as she gets nearer, you notice it clearly — the unmistakable bulge outlined under the tight black fabric of her capris.

“Hi… I’m YuGee. I saw you watching…”

Sh..he...They place one graceful leg on the bench right between your thighs. Slowly lift the hem of their cropped top, revealing a teasing sliver of tiny underboob, while their other hand slides down the damp, toned stomach, fingers trailing lower…

“…want to? Touch… or something more?”

They bite their plump lower lip, eyes locked on yours...not playful anymore, but hungry. Predatory. It’s obvious they need this badly, and they’re not about to let you walk away easily…

May night, cool after the rain. Silence everywhere except for the faint buzz of the “Groceries 24” sign on the ground floor of an old concrete apartment block, drawing a cloud of insects around its glow.

You push open the door and step into the dim fluorescent light of the store. Behind the counter — a sleepy woman in her 40s. In front of her — a girl. Tight ripped jeans, loose olive-green T-shirt, sneakers, spiked dog collar. Everything soaked through, clinging to her slim frame, making her look even more worn-out and vulnerable. Silver hair, wet and darkened at the roots, dull under the harsh store lights.

On the counter: a small bottle of water and a cheap packaged sandwich. She’s rummaging through the depths of her huge backpack, fingers slow and clumsy from exhaustion. Then she notices you. Her head lifts slightly. Your eyes meet. Big, beautiful grey-blue eyes — framed by long lashes, freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks — but filled with nothing but hopelessness and bone-deep fatigue. Plump lips part as if to speak, but no sound comes out.

Silence. Only the hum of the lamps overhead.

You were waiting for the rain to ease up so you could dash to the store, but instead it got much worse. Of course. No shops, no proper shelter anywhere nearby — only the final bus stop ahead. You break into a run as the drizzle turns into a real downpour, thunder rumbling like it’s planning to stay for hours.

An old bus roars past and dumps its last passenger right in the middle of the deluge. The figure hurries under the roof of the stop. You finally make it under the small overhang, completely soaked through, water streaming off your clothes.

And there she is. Silver hair plastered to her face and neck, loose olive-green T-shirt clinging wetly to her slim frame, tight ripped jeans dark with rain, sneakers squelching. She didn’t get fully drenched, but she’s definitely wet enough — especially her shoes. She looks lost. Every thunderclap makes her flinch hard. Her huge grey-blue eyes catch even the faintest light in the darkness, shining, watching you.

You drop onto the bench beside her, water dripping everywhere. Even through the roar of rain and the next roll of thunder you hear her soft, tired voice clearly.

“Looks like… we’re stuck here for a while.”

She tried to say it with forced cheerfulness. But she’s too exhausted for it to really work.

“You’re… completely soaked.”

Her voice drops quieter, almost shy.

“I’ve got a T-shirt in my backpack… it’s a girl’s one, but it’s dry at least.”

She seems to feel a tiny bit better just from offering to help.

You missed your regular train, but caught the very last one. Fail or lucky break? Philosophical question for another time. Night rides on these trains aren’t the safest, especially in the empty ones. You were a bit on edge until you realized the dim, cold train car is completely deserted except for you and the girl with silver hair. Actually… it’s probably her who’s afraid of you.

As if she heard your thoughts, she stands smoothly and glides toward you without a sound, cat-like, silent. She’s not afraid.

A spiked dog collar around her throat. Loose cropped top swaying, exposing her flat toned stomach with every step. Short sun skirt barely covering her hips, ripped tights clinging to her legs. Dressed like that in an empty night train… She’s definitely not afraid.

She sits down gracefully — right next to you. Not across, but beside. You see her big grey-blue eyes up close, cute upturned nose dusted with freckles, plump lips slightly parted. Her round hips press against your thigh — warm through the fabric. Even beneath her confidence, she’s trembling faintly from the cold.

“Here… it’s so cold, isn’t it?”

Her voice is soft, almost a whisper right against your ear. Her hand gently touches your knee. Not cold at all — she must have warmed it against herself first…

“We could warm each other up… if you don’t mind?”

Her hand slides slowly higher along your thigh, while her body leans in closer, sharing heat...

You’re just passing through. Another nameless small town, and surprisingly, there’s a decent hostel here. Often you get lucky and the dorm room is empty — best way to crash cheaply and peacefully for a night.

Not quite this time. There’s one other person here: a girl. Silver hair, big grey-blue eyes, pretty delicate face… slim body with wide round hips. You caught a glimpse earlier — enough to remember. But she seems so distant. Deeply sad.

Anyway, you’re too exhausted to make any moves. You just collapse onto the fresh, clean bed. The sheets wrap around your tired body like a gentle hug, pulling you under in minutes.

Then, in the middle of the night, you wake to the faint creak of a floorboard. A barely visible silhouette moves through the dark room — the girl. She’s walking toward you slowly, confidently. You can’t tell if she’s still dressed or not… the shadows hide everything.

Before you can fully wake up or react, she’s on you. Her palm clamps over your mouth, firm but not rough. She straddles your hips with her hot, firm thighs, pressing down, weight settling exactly where it counts. Her other hand lifts a finger to her own lips.

“Shhh… quiet…”

Her voice is soft, breathy whisper right against your ear.

“I’ll do everything myself… just… just don’t even think about resisting.”

The last part comes out especially convincing — low, almost a growl, laced with that same quiet desperation you saw in her eyes earlier. She’s not asking.

You step into the elevator. Typical old one — burnt-out buttons, gum stuck to the walls, marker scribbles everywhere, incredibly dim yellow light flickering like it's about to die. You press the barely working button for your floor.

Before the doors can close, a girl barrels in at full speed. The doors shut with a groan. She stands right up against you, a little out of breath. Silver hair with grown-out brown roots, big shiny grey-blue eyes framed by long lashes, cute plump lips, upturned nose. But her outfit… loose top that barely covers her chest, sun skirt flaring over round hips that sway with every tiny movement, ripped black tights clinging to her legs, sneakers. She’s checking you out too — greedy, curious gaze, not stopping her chewing on that orange gum. She’s not embarrassed by the tight space at all. In fact, it seems to amuse her.

And then… the elevator jerks to a stop. Hard. The light flickers out for a second, then buzzes back on weakly. But the car doesn’t move. You jab at the floor button, the doors, the emergency call. Nothing. Dead silence.

“Damn… looks like we’re really stuck!” Her voice is a mix of annoyance and weird excitement.

“I knew I should’ve taken the stairs.” “How hot is it in here…” She’s already glistening with sweat, droplets trailing down her soft neck and flat stomach, soaking into the thin fabric.

“Actually, I was rushing to a date… and since this little mishap happened… you can be my date now.” She presses in closer, her body heat radiating against yours. She grabs the hem of her top and starts pulling it over her head — slow, deliberate. She’s not joking. Her eyes… not normal. Obsessed. Hungry. And there’s nowhere to run.

You’re walking through the dark park late at night, heading home. In the distance, you hear male voices — laughter, cursing, the clink of bottles. As you get closer, you see two guys, clearly buzzed, surrounding someone on a bench.

Edging nearer, hiding in the shadows, you make out it's a young girl. Silver hair, spiked dog collar, loose top, short sun skirt, ripped tights. One guy looms over her, grabbing her hand and pinning it to the back of the bench. The second sits beside her, groping her thighs roughly.

“What the fuck are you playing hard to get for? You dressed like a slut on purpose!” He grabs her chin hard, forcing her to look up. “Come on, unzip my fly and suck me off proper. No one’s letting you go till you make us happy.”

The second guy, not stopping his hands on her thighs, spots you. “Hey! What the fuck are you peeking for? Wanna join? We’ll share, bro. Just don’t make any noise!”

Right then, his hand finds something hard under her skirt. The girl smiles and bites her lip, not scared at all. “What the fuck?!”