Fresh Off The Bus

Author's Note: This story is an original work of fiction. Future stories starring some or all of these characters might also be forthcoming based upon response and demand. Certain characters featured herein may also be found in other works by the authors. Feedback is desired and greatly appreciated. Email comments to the address in my profile. Thank you for reading.

Copyright 2009 by Jack and Josephine Cutter.

This story stars: Amberly Faye and Parker Wellington.

This story contains: a teenager, a celebutante, a decent amount of story before the sex, male-female erotic coupling, fellatio, cunnilingus, anal and analingus, showering, mild voyeurism, and a girl with big dreams.

This story begins post-prologue on Tuesday, September 20th.

* * * * *

The bus driver knew what was happening even before the girl opened her mouth. When you drive long-distance routes for Greyhound Lines, you learn enough about the types of people traveling to know just where they are going and what they are doing without even having to ask, and this girl was no different.

She was gorgeous, yes, that much was true: auburn hair that flowed from her head in soft rolling ringlets; light, bright, expressive brown eyes; sun-touched skin; and a fresh, wholesome face. She wore a wide smile that boasted pearly white teeth and was dressed in a conservative beige sun dress and pink sweater that hinted at an exemplary figure beneath. She was, it seemed, the proto-typical high school homecoming queen in the southern state of Tennessee: beauty, temptation, and innocence rolled into one tight little package.

Which meant only one thing: she was leaving her home and the life she knew to make it big in the world at large because everyone in her poe-dunk town told her she was too gorgeous not to find success. And her smile and the eagerness in her eyes told the bus driver she truly believed she would succeed, that she was leaving and getting on the bus to make a name for herself, and that fame and fortune lay at the end of the line.

The girl floated up the steps of the bus and handed the driver her ticket, then turned and looked down at the rows of empty seats. Few people traveled out of Somerville, Tennessee, which only had about twenty-five hundred people, much less into it. She selected a spot close to the front. She carried only one faded brown suitcase, which she set next to her; she would, she knew, find everything she needed once she got to where she was going.

Which was one of only two things the bus driver did not know for sure: her ultimate destination, though likely the west coast, and her age, which based solely on her looks would put her anywhere from sixteen to twenty-five (it was so hard to tell for sure with pretty young girls).

"Where you headed, darlin'?" the bus driver asked. He was a fifty-five year-old man with white hair and a kindly face. He loved driving busses because it gave him the opportunity to talk with people on a regular basis, and usually not the kinds of folks who were arrogant or haughty.

The girl beamed. "California!" she said cheerfully.

The bus driver nodded: he had expected as much. "That's a long way from here, darlin'," he said with a whistle. "What's in California?"

"A new life," the girl said with a dreamy sigh.

"Good for you," the driver said with a kind outward smile.

Inwardly, however, he was shaking his head: it was exactly as he thought it would be. The girl had big dreams probably harbored all of her life. He would've bet his entire salary for a month that she had just graduated high school and subsequently bypassed college to make her dreams come true.

"If I may ask, sir," the girl asked pleasantly, "how long will it take to get there?"

"What part of California, darlin'?"

The girl blushed and lowered her eyes. "Hollywood," she answered in a shy voice.

Bingo!

The driver did not long dwell on the accuracy of his prediction. He calculated roughly in his head. "Two days," he told her, "maybe more. Several stops and transfers, too. It's not the easiest ride in the world. You might as well make yourself comfortable, eh?"

The girl nodded and smiled again. She was beautiful, the driver had to give her that. Many girls had climbed on-board his bus bound for the bright lights of Los Angeles and few were as attractive as this one. Maybe she actually did stand a chance.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked. "How old are you?"

"Amberly," she told him after a moment's hesitation. "Amberly Faye. I'm almost nineteen."

The driver considered the girl a moment longer: Amberly Faye, movie star? Then he frowned and shrugged and realized the girl did not have a chance in hell of hitting the big time, not with a name like that and not with what seemed to be such an innocent and accommodating attitude. The biggest city in southern California would eat her alive.

"Good luck to you, Amberly," was all he said, however, because who was he to tell her the big dreams she had would be dashed like an old wooden ship on sharp rocks? Who was he to tell her the world was a big bad dangerous place for innocent girls? Who was he to scare her like that at the start of her journey, before the bus had even left the station?

"Thank you, sir," she replied sweetly as she settled back into her chair.

And the driver closed the doors and revved the engine, and the bus pulled away from the station, taking with it Amberly Faye, widely and quite accurately considered the most beautiful and breathtaking jewel of Somerville, Tennessee.

Part One: Dreams Big as Lights

There are several restaurants in the Los Angeles area known for their popularity among the denizens of the crowd of the young, beautiful, rich, and famous, which is why Parker Wellington never frequented such places unless his date was the kind of girl who required such attention.

Parker himself was all of those things, yes, although his fame was derived not so much from any kind of excellent talent, but rather the fact that he was young and hip and handsome, and the heir to a real estate fortune of significant size.

He was an attractive young man with jet black hair that fell about his face, deep blue eyes and a well-formed physique (he took himself and his looks very seriously), and he counted among his expansive list of friends and acquaintances such other wealthy young socialites as Allegra Widmore, Paris Hilton, Cassidy Carter, Kim Kardashian, Brandon Jeffries, Stavros Niarchos and various other celebutantes, plus an assortment of actual celebrities of varying degrees of fame.

However, he was more inclined to stay out of the limelight unless it served his purpose; it often followed and found him, but he did not go out seeking to flaunt it as some of his other friends did. The paparazzi were aggressive enough, he felt, and he didn't need to help them any, which was also why candid pictures of him were worth more than the rest – and why he remained wrapped in a shrouded sort of mystique that suited him perfectly.

On this particular night of nights, a Tuesday night as it happened to be, Parker was dining with friends at a little restaurant in Santa Monica called the Apple Dish, a popular spot with the right kinds of people but not yet very well known as it had only been open a few months.

The Apple Dish was a few blocks from the bluffs overlooking the Pacific ocean and not located on a main thoroughfare, not to mention boasted a covered valet parking drop-off, which meant it was easy to enter discreetly if discretion was desired.

And on this particular night, Parker definitely desired discretion. The paparazzi had been hounding him relentlessly of late: his four-month relationship with Katya Ivanova, a twenty-four year-old lingerie model of rising renown, had ended more than six weeks earlier and the gossip rags were still going crazy over the story.

Katya was beautiful and famous and loved to fuck (everything Parker looked for) but she was also a cold Russian bitch who required immense maintenance, which in the world of Parker Wellington meant she had a limited shelf life: just enough time for him to enjoy every delight her luscious body had to offer, as well as further his own reputation, but short enough to leave her wondering why he dumped her, angry about the whole thing and yet still wanting more, almost like she had something to prove to him, which meant he would likely have the opportunity to fuck her again at some point.

But for now he was simply content to regain his status as a single male. He was back in the party saddle and on the prowl for new fresh meat. He did not, however, expect to find such meat at the Apple Dish; truly, he was just there to take in dinner with a couple of his oft-neglected friends.

Charles Horton and Burton Ogilvie were wealthy young guys with plenty of leisure time on their hands, although their families were not nearly as well-to-do as the Wellingtons, nor as famous. Thus, Parker was the undisputed leader of their little trio; the guys followed wherever he lead and generally acquiesced to his requests. It was a very fruitful relationship, he felt.

"Dude," said Charles, who despite his wealth and decent looks had a very difficult time tapping pretty young ass, due primarily to lacking confidence and inferior intellect, "how could you give up Katya? She was hot and she'd do any dirty thing you asked her to. She was fucking perfect!"

Parker rolled his eyes. "Perfect tits, yes," he agreed. "Perfect body, yes. But she had that trashy pissed-off Euro look to her and she acted like a total bitch to pretty much everyone in the world. I'm over it. Too much shit to deal with."

The third guy at the table sighed. "Four months," he said.

Burton was a really smart guy and a genuinely good and nice guy, too, which was very surprising for someone firmly fixed in the world of high wealth and social elitism (Parker often wondered why Burton hung around with him). He was not the most attractive guy, however, and his last name was Ogilvie, which women almost universally hated, so he also did not have the best track record with girlfriends. He was a good wingman when Parker wanted to score without effort, which meant Burton himself usually scored with the semi-attractive friend of the hot slut Parker bagged, so he did alright for himself in the sex department, at least.

"Four Month Rule," Parker said with a nod. "Fucking epitome."

Charles eyes widened momentarily. "Whoa," he breathed, "do you think she would go out with me? She was always nice to me when we all went out."

Parker shook his head. "Sorry, man," he replied. "I doubt it."

"She'll probably fuck some hip emo-musician or someone like that," Burton said. "Someone who's not as famous as Parker, but who still has some status and buzz."

Parker nodded. "Artistic rebound," he agreed.

Charles looked disappointed. "I need to get laid!" he whispered vehemently. "It's been over three fucking months!"

Despite his lack of skills in the female department, that little fact was surprising. Three months was an eternity and it was not like Charles did not have money. He could've bagged almost any hot money-grubber slut he wanted. While Parker was selfish in the extreme, he was enough of a friend to want to see his boy get some ass.

He flipped open his phone and dialed a quick number. "Jimmy?" he said when a sleepy male voice answered the phone. "What the hell are you still doing in bed? It's eight o'clock at night."

Jimmy Sykes was a club promoter who knew anything and everything about the scene in Hollywood. Parker floated him a couple grand a month to be at the top of Jimmy's list when it came to certain types of information.

"Out late," the guy said, his voice muffled by what was likely his pillow. "Huge party at Envy. Lingerie theme. You should've come."

Envy was the new hip club that Jimmy was trying to get Parker to make an appearance at. Parker knew exactly what was required in this situation. "Bring three of your hottest gold-digger sluts to the club Thursday night and I'll make sure I'm there," he promised.

"Deal!" came the enthusiastic reply.

Parker grinned. "How many girls you got in bed right now?" he asked in a low voice.

Jimmy laughed. "Just one, man," he revealed, "but she's incredible. She's only nineteen!"

"The best fucking age, man," Parker said with a chuckle.

"The best fucking age," Jimmy agreed. "Later."

Parker flipped his phone closed and flashed a wicked smile at his two friends. "Thursday night," he said with a grin, "we get Charles some ass."

Charles heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank god!"

It was that exact moment that a soft and distinctly feminine voice broke up their conversation, saying sweetly, "Hi there, boys."

It was a lovely voice, musical and markedly southern, and Parker turned instantly to find its owner, knowing already he was intrigued. Beautiful voices rarely sprang from ugly sources, as his father often said, and the rule proved true once again: their waitress was luscious.

The Apple Dish employee uniform consisted of a simple white long-sleeve button-down shirt, white pants and a white apron wrap around the front of the waist and legs, which meant it was not the most revealing of outfits, and yet despite the unflattering garb it was easy for Parker to see that the girl was utterly gorgeous.

Her face was magnificent, fresh and appealing with bright brown eyes, high cheek bones, clear slightly tanned skin and pouty red lips. Her hair was golden-brown with hints of red and tied up in a ponytail for work, but seemed long and Parker had a sudden irrepressible desire to see the girl with her hair down. While her outfit did little to show off her body, Parker (who had a great eye for such things) could tell she was ample up top, and while the shape of them remained to be seen, the rest of her loveliness had him guessing they were well-rounded and well-formed, too.

The girl was smiling in the normal way of waitresses, not too big and not too small. Her smile was lovely, however (the girl was truly a vision of loveliness, no other way to describe her), and most importantly it did not appear fake in any kind of way. She seemed very genuine.

And her soft southern drawl was killer. "What would y'all like to drink?" she asked.

Parker went right into Parker-mode. Burton and Charles recognized it immediately, having witnessed and marveled at it many times before, and thus would not venture into the conversation until some sort of signal was given.

"Oh my," Parker breathed quietly. "You're beautiful."

The girl smiled a little brighter, but it was obviously something she was used to hearing. "Aww, thank you, sweetie," she said. "Now what can I get for you?"

Parker made direct eye contact and did not look away. "What would you recommend?" he asked in his charmingly boyish voice. It was a voice perfected over years of pursuing women and had worked wonders for him time and time again.

The girl paused and looked at him a little harder than she previously had. "Well," she said slowly, "are you boys fixin' to liquor up or just takin' it easy tonight?"

"Depends," Parker replied with an easy and affable smile.

"Depends on what?" the waitress asked. Her smile was hovering and the next few moments would determine everything.

His smile spread into a grin. "Depends on you."

The girl blinked. "Me?" she asked with some surprise. Her smile widened just a bit, but it was enough for Parker to know he was on the right track.

"Of course," he pressed without breaking stride, his eyes never leaving hers.

She glanced at Charles and Burton, both of whom were (to their credit) looking away and trying not to pay too much attention to what was going on, which forced her to bring her attention back to him. Her brow furrowed slightly and he was delighted to find her beautiful even when she was frowning. "I'm not sure I understand," she admitted.

Parker sighed, a sound calculated to make her feel for him without her even knowing it. It worked: her eyes softened noticeably and he jumped right into his end-game move.

"Look," he said, leaning forward just slightly, his voice dropping low to indicate his words were to be taken in absolute confidence, "I'm sure you have guys come in here all the time and tell you how beautiful you are. I'm sure some of them even ask you out. I don't want to be one of those guys who acts cool and gives you some line and hopes to get lucky. I don't normally do this, but I think you're beautiful, I love the sound of your voice, and I'd like to get to know you more."

The eyes of the waitress widened in surprise and a long moment passed as she considered his words. Parker had impressed himself with the tone and delivery of his lines (the words themselves he'd used many times before) and apparently he was not the only one. He noticed a faint flush spreading across her face.

She started to speak, then stopped herself, then smiled softly and started again. "How 'bout we start with those drink orders, ok? We can talk about other things a little later."

Parker grinned. "Sounds good," he replied, and knew that he had her.

* * *

She turned the corner and put her back up against the wall, thankful she was finally out of his sight, her insides still fluttering and heat still crawling up her neck. He was handsome, gorgeous actually, and his voice was so sweet and sincere it positively tickled her heart.

Amberly smiled and smoothed out the apron of her uniform where it rested over her thighs, more to steady and calm herself than for any real need to look better. She took a deep breath and prepared herself to re-enter the main room of the restaurant.

She did not, however, get very far: another one of the waitresses swept around the corner and nearly ran into her. It was Leighton Center, a twenty-two year-old girl who was friendly and fun. She and Amberly had hung out a couple of times and Amberly liked her a lot.

"What's the grin for?" asked Leighton. "You're blushing!"

Amberly giggled. "Just some guy at one of my tables," she revealed. "He asked me out."

Leighton arched an inquisitive eyebrow. She was blonde and good-looking with dark blue eyes, and pretty smart. She graduated from college about the same time Amberly graduated from high school and was pursuing an advanced degree at UCLA. Waitressing was just to pay the bills.

"Nothing new for you," she said thoughtfully. "What's it about this guy that's so different?"

Amberly shrugged. "Don't know," she admitted. "He's at table five. Black hair, facing us. "

Leighton peeked around the corner. "Can't see him too well from here, but he looks familiar," she said. "Very familiar, actually. Has he been in here before?"

There was no real time to talk. Amberly had seven tables she was dealing with and had things to do. "Can't talk now," she said as she slipped past her friend. "I'll keep you posted."

And as she entered the main room her eyes went immediately over to table five to find that the cool blue eyes of the young man were upon her, and that he was smiling. She smiled back but looked quickly away, and at that moment Amberly decided she would give the guy a chance.

* * *

"I don't know how you do it, Parker," Burton was saying with a shake of his head.

The three men were leaving the Apple Dish. All three had satisfied stomachs and were eager for what the night might bring, but only one of them had in his hand a napkin with the name and number of a beautiful woman on it.

"Amberly," Parker repeated for the third time. "Such an unusual name, but it's hot. She's a sweet little southern belle. I bet she's hellacious in the sack, once you unlock the doors."

Charles was grinning lewdly. "How long do you give her?" he asked.

Parker shrugged. "Two, maybe three dates," he said confidently. "I'd close the deal on the first, but with good girls like Amberly, the sex is best once you've put a little bit into it, you know? If she thinks the relationship is going places, she'll be much more eager to please and much more willing to try nasty things."