The Teacher and the Bus

The inspiration for this story comes from 'Stangers on the Bus' by SubmissiveVirginSlut. I thought about her story and wondered what would happen if the person the young girl thought she was using for her own gratification saw it a different way...

She'd tasted so good when I licked my fingers as I left the bus. That slut had been coming to my lessons for weeks, sitting there with her legs open and her shaven pussy teasing me with those swollen lips that seemed to mouth 'come on, fuck me'. She appeared totally unaware of what she was doing, such innocence in her face, yet I bet she thought she was in complete control. But I knew the reality, she was far from it and sinking more and more into the sins of uncontrolled depravity. I needed to save the slut and let her see the ways of her transgressions. I would offer her a better future.

I had followed her onto those buses for weeks. Each day she pretended to walk home, then casually left her friends to take a bus ride anywhere in the City and find herself another person each time to give her the pleasure she yearned. Always she would feign sleep; leaning her head against the window, letting her pleated school dress ride high. Always the material was spread out, her arse naked underneath. I knew from my classes there were no panties to inhibit this young whore. Her legs would open on cue, then entice by opening and closing repeatedly, though never as together as the time before until eventually she left them far apart and with one thigh rubbing against her companion. I'd seen elderly men push their arthritic fingers deep under her skirt, young boys their lithe digits and one middle-aged blonde woman whose long nails must have felt exquisite on her silky flesh. Her need was sex, the source immaterial, though she did seem to catch the eye of older men more than any other group. Perhaps they were better aware of her needs and in turn, more needy.

I decided to don a disguise that I got from a local theatrical supplies shop. The assistant had been so helpful, finding something that did not involve glues or paints but that would change my appearance at least temporarily. Apparently she regularly helped private investigators, thinking that I was one too. I'd found her very agreeable, her heavy breasts pressing into me as she adjusted the grey wig and the flat cap that would age me significantly. She seemed to like to serve. I made a mental note of this, considering when I would return and help her discover more of her subservience with my proper guidance. I felt the snake stir between my legs, its rising evil only contained by my more pressing mission. I had left with a set of disguises and a greater determination to save the young innocent.

I raced ahead of where the girl got on, parked and waited for the bus. I was breathing heavily, having only had seconds to spare. I was flushed and hot under the wig, the tinted glasses slightly steamed but this all helped me. I saw the space beside her and she gave me that familiar 'come-on' invitation to her daily conquest. As I walked towards her, her knees started to part. Just enough; she knew how to play it. I sat down, wordlessly. There was a yawn, another of her routines and then the opening and closing began as she settled into her slumbers.

I trembled as I watched the dress rise up her thighs and felt her warm young thigh press more and more insistently at each spread of the legs. I could smell her sweet aroma over the musty staleness of the ageing bus. I imagined the swollen sex, hungry to be touched and violated and her bare bottom, pressed against the dirty vinyl of the seat. My wig grew ever hotter as I moved my hand into position. I had watched this happen so many times before, but now it was me. The snake strained in my pants, aching to escape its imprisonment. All I could smell now was her juices that must have gushed over the red bench. I touched her naked flesh, her thigh warm and welcoming. It trembled slightly but knew I must go on. I had to take her further than ever before if I was to capture her and change those sluttish ways.

She pressed more against me, sliding her body down so that my fingers could not miss the invitation. This slut was hungry for it. She had no control, it was clear. I moved my fingers in little concentric circles, easing higher and higher. I was gradually beginning to understand her enjoyment of this. It was dangerous, with the risk that someone might see and yet compelling. No one else seemed to matter only that need to get fingers into warm, bare cunt. She was the devil incarnate, enticing me, making me sin. But later I would help her find her salvation for I knew what she really needed. This young thing had so much to learn.

I was on her bare sex after what seemed like hours. I had moved so slowly. Her only movement had been to place her gym bag over my insinuating arm, as she still pretended to be asleep. I was in, my fingers delving in the warmth of her cunny. My thumb stroked at her long hard clitoris. She was blessed with a large bud that projected like a rudimentary penis. This girl was understandably driven by her desires. The myriad of nerves at her apex must have tempted her endlessly, its gorged tip enticing, teasing, aching and longing for satisfaction. I had to teach her more than she would ever learn with her spotty, teenage friends. They knew nothing. She needed saving from her desires.

I felt her shudder as her climax came. The snake between my legs wanted to be where only fingers had been. I wanted to fuck her there and then, but I knew what bounty lay ahead with full control. I knew that to worship the Gods and Godesses of sex properly meant sacrifice and detachment. No, all good things came to those who waited; and wait I must.

By the time of that pleasured response, she was soaking my fingers in a gush of female cum. I had heard of females who could do this, but this girl was par excellence. The smell that wafted up had increased its intensity. I would guess that other men and maybe women too around us would be feeling aroused perhaps without an inkling of why. How sad that humans cover themselves with artificial scents and lose their natural odour, so much so they no longer recognise the true sources of arousal. But I had not lost that gift of sensitivity, no I had honed it on my many conquests, forbidding them the use of perfumes or scented soaps. And they had come to obey me, just as this one eventually would.

The serpent was tamed but my tongue was not. I'd realised the dress was in fact a skirt, so well coordinated was top and bottom. I used my other hand to tease out the blouse and slip my fingers under her flimsy bra and grasp her young breasts. How pert they were. How hard the nipple that I took firmly between thumb and forefinger. No way could she be asleep as I punished the hard nub with tortuous pinches that matched the rhythm of my thrusting fingers. As my hand plunged to the depth of the knuckles, so I squeezed harder and harder each time. She did not stir, but I knew. She was caught between pleasure and pain. And it that moment I knew for sure she would be mine and want me to give her salvation.

I took my time as we headed for that orgasmic release. I pretended to sleep on her, my head accidentally bobbed down. In reality, my hand had pulled her teat out mercilessly and now my teeth met it through the dark blouse. I held the nipple firm biting it and sucking it relentlessly. So it was no surprise that her orgasm was fast. She had found her new heaven. The splash of liquid below announced she had entered into this new kingdom and I was lord of it. Pleasure and pain had fused as one.

As the passion subsided, her nipple returning to its soft state of rest, I slowly released my grip and slid my fingers from the wet tunnel beneath. It was not intended, but my disguise caught on one of her blouse's buttons. The wig and hat came off, dropping beside her gym bag. I decided that as this was the case, the spectacles could be lost as well. I did not need them any more, she would soon by my willing disciple.

I felt the bus slowing for its stop. I had no idea where I was, but I did not care. I knew I had a new convert to my ways. So, I stood up and walked up the aisle. There were few left on now and I turned just before leaving. I stared directly at her. She opened her eyes and saw me. I was amused by the startled look, albeit brief. It is not often a middle-aged Religious Education teacher takes such an interest in an average scholar. I smiled and mouthed, "Thank you", then carried on and alighted onto a dark street miles from my car. I walked away, not looking back.

"Sir, sir, please."

I knew it was her. I smiled.

"Lord forgive me," I thought. Then I turned round, my arms open to receive her.

"Yes my child? Do you come to be saved?"