End Of The Line

"Go to hell", she snarled. She hadn't even put on the rubber gloves.

"I want my clothes...and I want out of here!"came the next screech, so effective that a pigeon seemed to flee for its very life instead of continuing to search for bread crumbs.

They did the opposite. One of the ruffians had sneaked behind her and began unhooking her bra, as she squirmed in horror. A second man grabbed her arms and allowed the 34B top to slide off and expose her breasts. "Bastards", she repeated over and over, as they bullied the young woman towards the bus steps. She was childishly prodded with both hoses until she agreed to take one, only while hiding her chest with an entire arm. Trouble is, operating this vacuum require two of those, unless you were reasonably strong and familiar with the routine.

Debased by these lowly cleaners, she opted to do as she was told, as her nude form could inspire other ideas - or worse - violent ideas. She commenced the labour, pulling the hose so that she could complete the deck, snatching tickets, wrappers, tissues and everything that could fit between the nozzle.

Its width was such that a wider card than its diameter would get jammed, but a banana skin is instantly sucked in for its travels. She humiliatingly let her boobs relax, knowing that six eyes were enjoying the show through the windows. Upstairs was the hard part. The tube was so thick and awkward that it had to be manipulated, and could easily get tangled on the way.

Indeed, this happened. Kristin had to return a couple of times to free it up, struggling up the steps so that it could reach all the way to the back seats that she had made a temporary bed. Her breathing was very heavy under the strain, and the old tube was adding to the filth already accumulated on her skin.

The unprotected hands got it the worst, and by the time it came to actually begin cleaning, she was exhausted. There was always a pull against her on the damn thing, and her muscles were aching. She wouldn't have believed it at the time, but only one man per night vacs the upstairs of every bus in the depot.

For the vomit, she took a deep breath and held it, otherwise she might create some more at the mere odour of emesis. She still didn't know for sure if it was hers, but the workers probably assumed it was. Once it had been cleared, some quick footsteps could be heard - Kavanagh, the true gentleman that he is, had saved her the trouble by fetching the mop.

The sudsy water dripped to the floor as she reluctantly took it, and with some of the windows opened, she could actually hear clapping down below. The two gazed into one another's eyes for a few moments.

"Are they going to hurt me?" she whispered.

Just like his friends, he didn't say a word. She wiped the stain left behind from where someone had hurled and watched him follow the yellow tube road. Kristin returned downstairs herself, trying to manage both the hose and the dirty mop, and she dropped both on the way out, feeling the effects of the duties fulfilled. For the first time since it began its route earlier tonight, the bus was cleaner than she was.

A strong arm lifted her to her feet once more, and that always meant there was somewhere else to go. Her breasts bounced as they felt the warmth of the bus through its air holes and exhaust. All four of her new colleagues rounded the back and mounted the platform, the closest she had been to that humming of the fuel pump since she woke up in this God forsaken place.

The ticket bus she had observed earlier wedged her between the walkway and "her" bus, as the men retrieved the oversized trigger from its barrel, removed the cap and inserted it inside the filler. The counter was activated and began adding in the hundreds. Their boots clanked on the steel floor, a floor so polluted it would ruin a pair of runners within seconds, never mind the bare feet of a woman. She cowered by the barrel, already tattooed in dirt and her energy waned. Why were they doing this? How do they think they can get away with it?

A well lit hut was at the end of the path, containing a clip board, some company sheets and a red stool. Once Byrne had made his notes, he pointed to the bus and demanded Kristin take care of it. What she didn't realise was that the fuel hadn't automatically discontinued yet, a distinct click being the signal if the fuel/oil man was reading the latest chapter in his book while he waited (Curiously, the counter did not face the hut). She reached for the trigger, removed it and the inevitable happened – it hadn't finished, and the out of control liquid was splashing against the bus and right back onto her exposed flesh.

The workers howled with laughter, as the naked college student dropped it a couple of times in the panic. Eventually she managed to put it back, but her legs were drenched and she was nearly in tears, arms wailing in annoyance. Barely enough time to settle down, the trainee was next off to the oil. Truthfully, AX694 did not need any, but the three jerks had to finish the job - and that meant lifting out the gun and emptying it somewhere else.

Kristin released a gasp of horror as she felt the greasy sludge build in the back of her panties, the last of it dripping from the valve as 'O'Neill' waited for the tank to click. She was afraid to even touch herself back there; the material was now completely black as the slimy oil merged with her backside.

She stumbled from the bay, disorientated from the fumes and disgust. The three had quickly circled her, nudging her back to the passenger side of the bus and leaning her against the window. They were all tall men, but none over six foot one, and O'Neill was the shortest of the group. He had black, curly hair peeping out from the hood, while Kavanagh had an ear pierced and was well built. Byrne, the shunter, donned a cap with the logo of the city's most famous football club.

They were mostly interchangeable, though, masked figures pestering her at every opportunity and loving their little games. Byrne took her wrists and began binding them, using a fairly thin rope that she had seen earlier to tie stacks of cushion seats. When she kicked out at him, Kavanagh was soon on the case to calm her down - he clutched her oily panties and in one swoop they were torn from her body. The rope was passed through a slight opening in the window; O'Neill had recently gone about shutting all of them in both decks as it is one of the responsibilities before moving the bus on.

It was tied to one of the bars for the luggage section, and the brunette felt the wrench of the twisted fibres in her suspended arms against the side of the vehicle. She writhed in irritation, fully exposed to the workers and tied to the bus like a prized ornament. Byrne could hardly help himself, his latex gloved hand roaming her soft skin, five fingers sliding from her torso to her inviting chest.

He squeezed one of her supple tits, perhaps finally showing his true colours, circling her nipple repeatedly. Oddly, Kristin smiled back at him a moment, though this was probably because she was planning to catch him right in the groin with her good knee.

His mates cackled at his failure, watching him collapse to the pavement and hold his injured testicles. O'Neill had securely fastened the bondage, while Kavanagh shut down the vacuum. The wash switch went in the opposite direction, as he palmed the red, circular button. Through the small gap between the wall and the bus, she could see the rotating brushes kick start – it was time for a shower. And this would be no ordinary shower; it would be a truly cleansing experience.

The bus shifted into gear and advanced from the platform, as Kristin anticipated the 15-20cm extra she would have to drop once said platform had ended. She could just about reach the ground on her tippy toes, the nail polish from this morning a distant memory, and her feet and rear end were so greasy it didn't bear thinking about. Slowly the bus moved in the tunnel of the bay, the water sprays already intense.

The bristles made contact with the public transportation, they were in this together now whether she liked it or not, the ropes tightly attaching her. The naked girl screamed to her heart's content, at least managing to turn 180 and face away from the imposing brushes, as they were spinning wildly and beginning to abrade her fragile skin.

The bristles did their work on her fuel contaminated body, as she walked with the bus' every movement, even faster during this point but the rope didn't budge. She hugged the dusty-turned-saturated body of the machine, pressing her face against the glass and squeezing both breasts into panels. The bristles had passed but the noise of this twenty year old bay was never ending, and the squirting cold water painted her back, ass and legs as clean as a whistle.

Finally, the system shut down, the structured bars retreated and thankfully before the second brush had encroached her position. Her screams, having been lost so easily in the clatter had now subsided, and she cried silently to herself through the side window. She waited for whatever was next in store, whichever cruel prank they had thought of forcing her to undergo. She was utterly sober by now, so she could not even go missing in the hazy world she had been in a short time ago.

After a couple of minutes, she dared to peek out. Kavanagh, with his loose laces was chatting to a lanky individual in a long white coat. O'Neill startled her, but this time his hand was only intended for her unpredictable mouth. He clasped it with the greasy rubber as Byrne left the driver's seat to stand directly in front of her assaulted body. The foreman seemed upset about something; the Nitelink had been handed over to the depot at 3:15, yet over an hour later it was only being serviced now. Also, although it was a four man job, it was the last bus of the night after a gap of two hours, so it was common practice to have one volunteer take care of it.

"Wait a minute...", said the foreman.

No, it's not what you think....Kristin screamed into the glove for help and jerked aggressively on the restrain - surely it was unmissable! The boss was allowed inside, stepped towards the cab, swiftly found what he was looking for, and with his back turned to the huge wash, called over Kavanagh once again. His head dropped, his lips parting to attempt making an excuse, but there wasn't one.

The foreman adjusted his oversized spectacles and held out his hand. Kristin could feel the tension among the assailants, her own sky blue eyes as wide as theirs as they waited, her arms so tired and throbbing. Once again, there were but two sounds, the hissing and the humming, and on the human side of things there was the breathing through two nervous noses.

"What's this?"

At last, his hand unfurled....to reveal a tiny bus fare receipt. The trainee had carelessly overlooked it, but as Kavanagh was the vac man for Friday night, it was only he who could shoulder the blame. The supervisor left him with the crumpled waste and returned to his personal office (Rumour has it he had downloaded every episode of 'Dexter'). Meanwhile, O'Neill and Byrne skipped over the puddles of water and started discussing plans for socializing that evening.

Kavanagh, sweeping brush in hand, met up with his buddies once he had scooped up a pair of black, designer high heel pumps and placed them in the trash can nearby. She was lost for words as she remained trapped inside the wash, listening to their fading management complaining in the middle of the garage, as they headed back to the bathroom/locker rooms after a good day and night's work.

"He's such an arsehole"

The End