Bus Stop

Missionary Position

Her breathing behind him echoed through the bus and resounded off the back of his head, while she dropped coins into the mini wooden bowl and made small talk about the rain with the driver. He heard the whirr and slice of the ticket dispenser, imagined the ticket stub hanging out of it like a limp dick and her tugging at the one end to free it from the machine. At last he heard the clicking sound of her stilettos coming towards him down the aisle and he waited, patiently, for her to appear. One, two, three, four rows of seats … he caught the first whiff of her familiar perfume that was pushed ahead by her body heat; five, six … he caught a glimpse of something yellow in his peripheral vision; seven … she turned right and sat down in her usual spot diagonally opposite him, in the facing seat. At first she peered out the window into the night, into the rain, seeing nothing but raindrops lashing the big black window and the occasional street light flashing by. His eyes rolled over her, lingering on the bulge of her tits, the exposed tops glistening wet with raindrops, nipples threatening to pierce the thin fabric of the knitted chequered top. All that is keeping them together is a small, flat, pearl-like button, which he won’t even bother to undo; he’ll just tear right through it. She put an arm under her wild blond tresses and flicked them backwards, letting them hang over the back of the seat. Her lips were pouting and red like cherries, inviting him to crush them with his own. His eyes slid downward, past her breasts, down to the waist and onward to her lap where he knew an ache in her belly was withering for his attention. Her short skirt had slipped upward an inch or two, revealing more of her slender thigh than what he knew was good for his blood pressure.

The lights dimmed, the bus changed into a dungeon with leather apparatus everywhere and chains sprouting from the ceiling and walls. Her immaculate designer office suit in summer yellow fell away, revealing her nubile naked body and he was the zip-faced master and she, the damsel in dire distress. He reached out and spun her toward him, grabbing her around the waist and pushing her hard against the wall. He could see the fear in her eyes and it excited him immensely. He reached for her breasts and squeezed one in each hand, feeling the luxuriousness of the silicon roll under his palms. He squeezed her nipples hard between his fingers, until he could feel them bruise and she screamed in pain. He laughed villainously as he pushed her towards a leather horse and pushed her forward over it, her lily-white behind blossoming like an awakening hydrangea, with his long purple-headed monster lying in her groove like an oversized stamen. He stroked her butt cheeks with his leather-clad hands. Up and down he stroked them, pinching the flesh, leaving red marks as he went. Almost lovingly he parted them, eyeing the object of his desire hidden between those lovely buns. He slid off a leather glove, gently poking a podgy finger into her wetness, curling it into a hook and drawing her juices out in warm trailing lines of creamy goo. She moaned softly, almost whimpering, in anticipation of what she knew was to come. His finger played in and out of her warm pleasure cave and trailed down her exposed slit, searching for the on button. He found it and played a little nursery rhyme around it – “Jack-and-Jill-went-up-the-hill” – up and down, in and out, spreading her juices evenly all over her upturned treasure trove. His finger grew more enthusiastic and he could see the effect of his efforts shivering down the back of her legs. She grew harder under his finger and he revelled in the pleasure now washing through her entire body, knowing exactly how hard her nipples were where they rubbed on the leather, almost feeling them between his teeth and tasting the raw metal taste of her blood as it seeped through her skin and into his mouth. But before she could explode her warm and wet wonderfulness all over his hand, he rammed deep into her. She screamed and arched her back. He grabbed a handful of flying golden tresses and rode her like a horse, the full length of his massive shaft showing with each immaculate stroke. He growled from deep down in his stomach and roared at the top of his lungs. Her piercing screams reverberated through the dungeon and he laughed as he rode her, because there was no one to hear her. They were alone in their little playpen, just the two of them, alone.

The bus slowed down and he caught her eye, staring at him, staring at her. He averted his gaze guiltily, but looked back almost immediately. She gave him a sultry smile and winked conspiratorially.

“Hey, Big Boy,” she said as she got up and came to sit next to him. He had some difficulty moving his three-hundred-pound frame in a hurry and drew squiggles in the fog on the window with his shoulder before sagging into the corner. She snuggled against him and almost disappeared behind his massive arm. “It’s so cold tonight, isn’t it?” She feigned a shiver, rubbing her hands together. He just smiled lamely and bobbed his head and wondered if he smelled of sweat. She slid her hand over his bulging abdomen, over the stretched button. Her carefully manicured fingers played with his tie for a moment and then slid off the other side of the bulbous flesh mound he called his body. He clamped his patent leather folder tightly against his chest while sweat poured from his brow, fogging up his glasses. She tickled a fat fold with her fingernails and he could feel his fat-engulfed little cock throb in his pants like an air hose with a parked car on it. She glanced over her shoulder towards the front of the bus while leaning over to him; the driver was intent on his driving, rain and wind bashing the bus on the outside. “Oh my God!” his mind screamed, “she’s touching me!” He clutched the patent leather folder tighter against his chest with his pathetically podgy hands. Then her fingers slid bumpety-bump over his lard rolls and down his leg, clutching urgently at his throbbing cock. He was certain all she could feel was the bulging purple tip that protruded from between his oversized thighs. Again he thought of sweat. He looked at her thighs, curvaceous and slim, the one crossing the other, revealing skin, silk stockings and suspenders.

“Come on Big Boy, you want me, don’t you? You want my lips around your cock; you want to spurt deep inside my throat, don’t you? Or maybe you want to push your fingers into my slit and rub my clit till I scream? Or maybe … you want to bend me over the seat here and bang me hard from behind?” He became increasingly nervous. His little cock bobbed up and down in its sheath, trying its damndest to break free from it glutinous cage. “Oooohh! You make me so hot!” she whispered in his ear, half climbing up the side of his body to get to it. “We’re alone on the bus, no one will see.” She followed his glance and grabbed his one hand. She forced it down, feeling the unwillingness dissipate before her urgency. His fat hand came to rest on her thigh. Splotchy, podgy lump of meat on milk-white-super-sexed-up raunchiness. She moaned and shifted and he saw white satin panties with a distinctive dark wet line down their middle as she worked his hand up and hard over her wet snatch. With her other hand she rubbed his joystick and she could feel it grow as if by magic from the glutinous grotto in his crotch. It bucked and slipped and slid, her fingers working faster and faster up and down his short shaft while his fingers, her dumb slaves, slipped past the white satin barricade, finding her wet warm slit. In and out, up and down she manoeuvred his deft fingers, her head thrown backwards, blond hair spilling over the backrest of the seat they shared; he as big as a house and sweating like a pig; she, as small as a mouse, spittle dribbling down the side of her mouth. He listened to her breath racing and wondered how it was possible that he could hear her above the noise of his own ragged breath. She looked at him sideways through half-open eyes and that did it for him. The racing breath, the tongue licking those full red lips, his fingers disappearing in that warm wet pit of pleasure, grinding her hard clit against her pelvic bone, the mist of sweat between her heaving tits that looked like two active volcanoes about to erupt. His cum boiled deep down in a place he hadn’t thought of in a long time. It rose up his shaft like coke through a straw; his pulsating purple head contracted a final time and spat its load with a shudder and a groan into his underpants. Two short soft screams left the throat of the woman next to him as she fingered herself into oblivion with his chubby hand. They came in unison, her butt gyrating on the seat, his shoulder drawing spirals in the fogged-up window. When she finally came to rest she sighed, threw her hand over her eyes and giggled like a schoolgirl. The bus slowed down in the rain and came to a halt.

“This is me,” she said and jumped up, straightening panties, skirt and blouse in one swift movement. She turned and smiled; he just sat there, sweating and dumbfounded. “Thanks, see you tomorrow,” she said while winking conspiratorially, and skittered off on yellow stilettos down the bus aisle and out into the stormy night.

Next to him on the seat was a wet spot under his palm. He raised his hand to his face and snorted her musky sex up his nose. He was not sure how it started or what had actually happened, but he knew he could not wait for tomorrow to come.

Outside in the darkness, a lanky girl walked away from the bus stop through the rain. On her lips was a smile and her cheeks were rosy red with pleasure. Her clit glowed like a red LED, warm and sticky from the efforts of a not-so-unwilling hand. Already in her mind she could see herself tomorrow, same time, same place, next to the fat pervert on the bus, opening his fly, extracting his diminutive dick from its vulgar vault, taking it in her mouth, fighting hard against his voluminous thighs, smelling his musky crotch, working his shaft up and down, up and down. She could taste him, she could feel the cum accumulating in his balls, ready to shoot into her throat; she could taste the sharp metal taste of his blood as her sharp white teeth bit through flesh and sinew, tearing his cock from his crotch like tearing a bus ticket stub from a dispensing machine.

LitNet: 09 May 2006

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