The remains of a spent bus ticket

Her breathing echoed through the emptiness of the bus and resounded off the back of his head, while she swapped coins and made small talk about the rain with the driver.  The whirr and slice of the ticketing machine brought an image of her ticket stub hanging from the dispenser like a limp dick, she tugging at it to free it from the machine.  Then the clicking sound of her stilettos approached him from the rear and he waited, patiently, as if for a lover to appear.  One, two, three, four; the first whiff of her familiar perfume pushed past him; five, six; a shimmer of yellow appeared in his peripheral vision; seven; she turned to her right and sat down in her usual spot.  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 flash of what appeared to be streetlights flashing by.  He rolled his eyes over her, hoping she won’t notice, letting them linger on the bulge of her tits of which the exposed tops glistened wet with raindrops, nipples threatening to pierce the thin fabric of her top.  All that kept them together was a small button, which, if he had the chance, won’t even bother to undo.  She put an arm under her wild blond tresses and flicked them back, allowing them to cascade over the back of the seat.  Her lips were pouted and red like trampled late-summer blackberries, inviting him to crush them with his own.  His eyes slid downward, past her tits, down to the waist and onward to her crotch where he knew her frog-belly-white shaven pussy was waiting in anticipation, begging for his attention.  Her short skirt had slipped upward an inch or two, revealing more of her slender thigh than what was good for his blood pressure.  The lights dimmed, the bus turned into a dungeon, his dungeon and he reveled as his eyes glided over his precious toys.  Her immaculate designer office suit in summer yellow fell away, revealing her nubile naked body.  He was the zip-faced master and she, the damsel in dire distress.

         He spun her toward him, grabbed her and pushed her hard up against the wall.  She gave up her fear to him and it pleased him to no end.  He squeezed her tits and reveled in the luxuriousness of the silicon under her skin.  He squeezed her nipples ‘til he could feel them bruise and she screamed in surprise.  He laughed villainously as he pushed her towards a leather horse and bent her over it, her lily-white bottom blossoming like an awakening hydrangea; his long purple-headed monster resting in her groove like an over sized stamen.  Her sweet cheeks felt amazingly soft, even through his leather-clad hands.  Up and down he stroked them, pinching the flesh, leaving red marks as he went.  Almost lovingly, he parted them, eying the object of his desire, hidden between those lovely buns.  He peeled off a leather glove, gently poking a pudgy finger into her wetness, curling it into a hook to better draw her juices out of her in warm gooey filaments of cream.  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.  His deft fingers found it and played devilishly with it to the mute tune of an old nursery rhyme: 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 increasingly 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 reveled 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 seeps 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 play center, just the two of them, alone.

         The bus slowed down and he caught her eyes 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 moved his three-hundred-pound frame out of the way in a hurry with just a smidgen of difficulty and his shoulder drew squiggles in the fog on the window before he sagged back into the corner.  She snuggled up 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 whether he smelled of sweat.  She slid her hand over his bulging abdomen, over the stretched button and played with his tie momentarily. Then it slid off the other side of the bulbous flesh mound he called his belly.  A sudden onset of fright caused him to clamp his patent leather folder tightly against his chest while sweat poured from his brow, fogging up his glasses.  A tummy tickle from just her fingernails initiated a rhythmic throb in his fat engulfed miniature cock 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.  “Please, please!!” his mind screamed. “She’s going to touch me!”  He clutched the patent leather folder tighter against his chest with his pathetically pudgy hands.  Then her fingers slid bumpety-bump over his lard rolls and down his leg searching urgently for his cock.  He turned red with shame and cursed every confectionery in the country a thousand times.  He was sure that all she could feel was the bulging purple tip of his diminutive dick that protruded from between his over sized thighs.  Again he thought of sweat; then she found it, made a gigantic effort to dig out all of the four erect inches and sighed deliciously as if she just found twelve.  He looked at her legs, 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 grabbed his hand while following his glance.  His fat hand landed on her thigh.  Splotchy, pudgy 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 maneuvered his inept 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, the mist of sweat between her heaving breasts.  An ancient volcano rumbled deep down in a place he hasn’t thought of in a long time.  It rose up his shaft like soda through a straw; his purple-headed cookie monster convulsed a final time before it shed its load with a shudder and a groan, leaving a wet spot to grow to the size of a 50p coin on his dark suit pants.  Two mellifluous cries escaped from the throat of the woman next to him as she drove herself into oblivion with his chubby hand.  She drew wet-bottom drawings on the seat; he drew spirals in the fogged-up window with his shoulder.  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 softly and skittered off on yellow stilettos down the aisle and out into the stormy night.  Next to him, he felt her wet bottom drawings under his palm.  He raised his hand to his face and snorted her musky smell up his nose.  Then he licked his hand and shuddered at the vivid scenes replayed in his befuddled brain.  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 were a smile and her cheeks were rosy red with pleasure.  Her on button 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 compressed balls, ready to shoot into her throat; she anticipated the sharp metal taste of his blood as her sharp white teeth bites through flesh and sinew, tearing his cock from his crotch like tearing a bus ticket stub from a dispensing machine.