Bus Ride

Copyright © 2014 KingsWoman

For Michael



I got on the bus. One woman had a bag on the seat beside her. On the seat behind sat a man, a newspaper beside him. The old man moved it when I went to sit down.

I sat staring ahead. The small seats forced my thigh against his. He sat with his hands above the newspaper on his lap. He wasn't touching himself.

I wished he was.

I wished I were not wearing a demure long skirt and a loose shirt that did not show off my cleavage. I wished I were wearing a slinky tight dress, hugging my hips, cupping my soft breasts as snugly as a hand with long fingers.

I held firmly onto the pole. My hand was moist with sweat and slid up and down as the bus jiggled along its route with my thigh pressed to the thigh of the indifferent old man. My fingers gripped tighter, up and down.

I wished there were someone at home with his cock standing proudly up for me as hard as the pole. I bent my head away from the old man on the bus, suddenly running my tongue over my lips. My fingers gripped on the pole, the bus jiggled my thigh against his.

The bus pulled up at a stop.

You got on and held up your pass in long fingers. Casually, you looked along the aisle at the seats full of people. Your eye caught my eye, which was turned away from the old man. Your gaze moved down my body seated next to an indifferent old man.

I felt as if my loose shirt had been stripped aside. Your hardening gaze seemed to know the full curves of my tits, my soft hips and shapely legs under the demure skirt. You turned into a seat facing the rest of us. You sat there running your eyes over me, your gaze always ending up in my lap. I pretended not to notice. But I knew you had seen the snigger in the corner of my mouth.

I rang the bell. I got awkwardly up and went down the aisle, holding seatbacks to steady myself. Your eyes raked me over. Slily you grinned as I passed you. I pretended to frown.

Next day, same time, we were sitting on the bus. I sat halfway back just below the steps in the bus, by an old woman. You sat facing. Slily you grinned as I passed you to get off the bus. I pretended to frown.

On the third day, Friday, I dressed to go out. I wore a figure-hugging little brown dress and boots. I sat beside another woman, idly staring out the window. I had chosen the first seat up the steps, the one where you sit up above, as if on display. When you got on the bus, I didn't even look at you.

I felt your gaze like hands running all over me; over my breasts, a nipple poking into the soft cloth, around my waist, down the muscles of my leg, catching in the zipper of my boot to pull it down. I sat idly staring out the window until I rang the bell for my stop.

As I passed you, the bus lurched and my hip jerked nearly into your face. Your hands went up, you just stopped yourself from grabbing my arse. We were both sniggering as the bus pulled to a halt. I didn't dare look at you. Your head was down unsuccessfully trying to hide your laughter.

Monday, in my demure long skirt.

Tuesday, found a crop top to wear under a cardigan. It was warm on the bus. It was just a natural impulse to throw my cardigan open as you got on, to expose some skin to a light breeze from the open windows. So hot on the bus. We are all panting along on the hot journey home with the bus jiggling and shaking.

On Wednesday, I miss the bus.

I stopped to look at a dress in a shop window. It had a fitted waist and pleated skirt. I was wearing a loose shift dress in flowered white material. I wondered if a fitted waist would look better. As I hurry up to the bus stop, I see the bus leaving.

It begins to rain. I stand at the unsheltered stop, looking out for the next bus. The rain falls in big warm slow drops. It begins to rain harder. I make a move to go back to the shops. A sudden downpour sweeps up the street, soaking all in its path.

My white flowered shift dress is soaking wet. The cloth clings to my breasts, my waist, my hips, my thighs. My long hair is dripping already. I stand helpless in the pouring rain, raindrops running down my face from my hair.

A bus pulls up and I get in. I am alone on the bus. Except for the driver who is staring at my tits. The green and pink lace of my bra is showing through the wet white flowered cloth of my dress.

I slink up the aisle and go to huddle in a seat then I decide I don't care. I sit on the seat up the steps in the bus, on full display. I sit with my back held upright, staring sideways through the rain to where people who have not yet got the bus home shelter in the bars and cafés. I can see the driver looking in his mirror to see me. My hair, my dress, my body are all dripping wet. My face is wet. Nobody can see me cry so it doesn't matter if I cry for no good reason.

The rainstorm is only getting wilder outside the bus. It gets so dark that the yellow lights pop suddenly on, making it harder to see outside the bus, easier to see me inside sitting on full display with my wet dress moulded to my boobs, my curving figure, the raindrops and tears rolling into the sad downward curve of my mouth.

The bus judders suddenly to a halt as if the driver had been staring so hard at the green and pink lace showing through my dress that he nearly missed the person flagging him down. I am thrown forward like a rag doll and nearly pitch over into the seat in front of me. Furious, I lift my head. I see you standing, showing your pass in long fingers, and staring back at me.

Have you also missed the bus? Is this Fate?

Did you step back when you saw I wasn't on the bus, decide to wait in case I was on the next one? Do you want to see me so much?

I sit with the wet white flowered cloth clinging to my body, staring first at you, then out of the window. You sit at the front of the bus in the seat facing.

I know you are staring at me. Your penetrating gaze seems to settle in the deep cleft between my breasts and move up and down as my tits jiggle to the bus's jerky movements.

I put my leg out in the aisle by me. I put a hand on my thigh as if to wipe some of the rain from my body.

You tense up.

I can see the driver's eyes in his mirror, flicking from the road bouncing with raindrops to look at my hand on my leg. I can feel your eyes boring up my skirt, along my thigh to a glimpse of green and pink panty.

"Oh," I say. "I am all wet. My panties are all wet."

I lift my head and look into your narrowed hard eyes.

Suddenly you get up and move to stand by the driver in his cab as he jolts the bus along the rainy road, flicking his glance between me in his mirror and the little traffic that has ventured out in the downpour. I have a sudden fearful thought that you are going to ask him to let you get off the bus. I fear you have recognised the lustful sex-starved slut I am underneath my demure outfits. I fear you are disgusted because I was about to show you -- a stranger on a bus -- my cunt.

With the bus driver for witness.

The driver has looked down at your hand on his till tray. There are some notes there.

"Keep driving," you say, "and I'll give you the same again when we're done." You turn towards me, then turn back and add: "Switch the cameras off."

Jesus Fucking Christ, the CCTV cameras. In my slut-lust to show you my wet green and pink lace panties, my wet cunt, I almost turned myself into the day's million hit wonder girl on Youtube.

The blush is going hot and red up my cheeks.

The flush is throbbing hot up my arse cheeks.

You swing down the bus to me. I can see your erection already tenting the cloth of your trousers.

As you arrive full of purpose at the bottom of the steps, I suddenly pull a condom from my handbag. You come to a halt, your face screwed up. "For Fuck's sake!" you say.

"It's very wet," I say huskily. "You'll need a raincoat."

You stare and then suddenly you laugh and take the condom. "I reckon this'll be worth the ride," you admit.

You seize my legs and pull them over the seatback in front of me. My shoes fall off and clatter on the floor of the bus. My bare feet are resting on the fuzzy bus seat, my legs pulled so my arse rests on the bar of the seatback. I have to twine my arms in my seatback to keep my balance.

Your eyes are running all over me now. Your hands grip on my knees and then slide up my rain-washed thighs which are voluntarily opening to your penetrating gaze. You twist your long fingers in my wet green and pink lace panties. You pull them off and sling them after my shoes, pushing the wet white cloth of my dress right up to my waist.

Courteously, you stand aside so the bus driver can get a good eyeful of my pussy. A soft dark trimmed strip leads his eye down as straight as the road he is veering all over.

You kneel in the seat below my spread legs and insert a finger in the already swollen lips of my pussy.

"Fuck me," you say. "You're wetter in here than it is out there!"

By now I can only moan in response. I hold tight to the rail of the seatback, my head twisting so that my long wet dark hair tosses about my shoulders and face. My breasts are aching, my nipples hard nodules in the wet lace bra. My cunt is throbbing insistently. I try to jerk my hips upwards, my feet slipping on the fuzzy bus seat.

You ease your fingers around my hot wet pussy, grinning and murmuring as I moan with excitement. "Yeah, baby, you are wide and wet for me," you say exultantly. One finger probes up inside the clinging muscles of my cunt. I start to writhe and lift my hips. I can't move much for fear of falling from this precarious perch. I'm being driven to a frenzy by the teasing play of your long finger which is sometimes jerked harder into me by the erratic motions of the bus.

We have stopped at some traffic lights. I twist my head and I see a man standing under a black umbrella staring at us. The rain bounces heavily off his umbrella. His mouth is wide, he is staring through the window to where I am spread over the back of a bus seat with my whole arse exposed and your fingers up in my cunt.

It's dark outside in the rainstorm. The yellow lamps light the inside of the bus up like a fucking Christmas tree. I am as exposed as the frigging fairy on the top with the fucking tree stuck up my skirts.

The bus jerks off. Your finger sinks hard up in me. You pull it out and sniff it, then give it an appreciative lick. You unzip your trousers, pull your y-fronts down. Your big dick springs free, standing up proud and hard. You quickly roll on the condom. I stare up into your eyes. They are shining bright with slut-lust. You grin. I grin.

"Fuck me!" I beg.

You kneel up and put the head of your big hard cock to my soft soaking wet vulva. You kneel there, staring at me and grinning. I am trying to jerk my hips off the seat rail and press up around your Johnson. I long to throw my arms out, grab your lean butt with both hands and drag you boring deep into my cunt. I can't let go or I'll fall between the seats.

With a sudden thrust you sink your shaft deep into me. I scream with excitement as I feel you ploughing down to the heart of my bottom. I'm so wet you are like the keel of a boat rushing through the waves, you can sink long and deep and hard into my cresting cunt on your first thrust.

Rising and sinking, you are thrusting down into me and shoving my arse cheeks hard on the narrow rail of the seatback. Racked out for your pleasure, with the bus driver as witness, I give way to you shafting down into my hot wet hole, rubbing against my joyful leaping clitoris. I come in waves, screaming louder than the rattle of the rain on the windows. My cunt muscles clench on your thrusting cock and you are grunting and pumping harder, your face clenched in satisfaction. The clutch of my sex around your sex shudders in our climax.

The bus driver steers erratically through the rainstorm, grinding the gears with his foot slipping on the clutch. His eyes flick up to see us in the mirror, then quickly flick back to the rainy road ahead.