In Transit

A horn blared, and the bus jolted to a stop.

My mind started its familiar process of self-assembling my consciousness as I roused, more reluctantly than usual, from a deep sleep. From who am I, to where am I, to what was in store for me today.

Not in my bed.

Some kind of seat.

In a bus.

In someone's lap.

Pause to regroup.

Through my closed eyelids I could tell it wasn't dark.

My brain was thick with a foggy tiredness. I waited as it heaved itself from the sludgy mire of slumber. What was I doing here? Who was I with?

Fragments of the previous night careened around in my mind, refusing to sit still long enough for me to get a good hold on them. There was a nice fellow who bought me coffee. There was a bus ride. I had... oh, yes, I had let my darker thoughts roam earlier. Then I had...

My mind started to clear more rapidly as a jolt of adrenaline rudely brought me to a higher awareness. What had I done? I had masturbated in public! Omigod. But I had scarcely registered that before the story continued to unfold into the episode with plaid skirt girl, and... oh dear! Then it was the nice guy, and the fun I had giving him head, albeit with a disastrous ending...

My emotions were conflicted. It was hard to believe what I was recalling. It was degrading, scandalous, naughty, but thrilling. I was quite awake, and allowing the story to fully unfurl to its conclusion.

We had sat, me and Mr Coffee, and had made a deal. He would set his alarm and wake me, and I would... wait. Had his watch gone off? Was it time?

My eyes popped open. It was fully daylight. I sat up to look at my companion, and he was looking right back at me. With a goofy smile, he said, "Morning, sleepy!"

I was confused. I reached for his watch to see if I could read it, saying, "What time is it? Do we still have time? Oh, gosh. It's daylight. We'll never get away with it!"

"Calm down! It's fine. I decided to let you sleep. Gosh, you were out within a couple of seconds, and I just didn't have the heart to wake you again so I disabled the alarm. I hope that's ok."

I stared at him for a number of long seconds, trying to add up all the facts in what he had just said, trying to understand its implications. Curse this addled, still-sleepy brain behind a now highly adrenaline-doused consciousness!

"You... you let me sleep? But...", I struggled to put it all together. He had willingly foregone a blowjob so that I could get more sleep. Is that even a thing? Can guys do that? And... why...?

I blinked, and took a few more seconds. It's not like he's wrong. I mean, I meant it when I said I would wake up and start again, but I said that in a fit of erotic pique. I don't actually feel much like it right now, and had he woken me from a deep sleep just 45 minutes in, I'm sure I would absolutely not have been in the mood. I'm not saying I wouldn't have done it, I mean, a deal is a deal. But...

He kinda saved me from myself there.

So what was I to do? I found myself in unfamiliar territory.

So I smacked him.

Not hard, but just whacked him in the arm for emphasis as I admonished him, "We had a deal."

He had the good humor to become, after initially laughing with mock indignation, terribly contrite. "I know," he solemnly admitted. "You have me at a disadvantage. I must beg your pardon, my lady."

"Hmff," I whiffed. "Well, I shall have to let you know if I can find it within myself to forgive you. A man's word is his honor, after all, and you, sir, have gone against a duly agreed undertaking." I shot him a twinkling look.

"I shall make it my life's work to find a way to make it up to you, my lady. Indeed, if I were not flying out today, I should like to pursue that immediately, but alas, it will have to wait until my return next spring," he gave as much of a formal bow as one can, sitting in a Greyhound bus.

I broke character, "You're flying out? Where to? For a year?" I may have sounded more frantic than I intended.

"I'm afraid so," he bowed his head. "It's a research trip. I'll be in the South American jungle collecting bird vomit. And as glamorous as I'm sure that sounds, I daresay I will think of little else but you while I'm away. I just hope you'll give me your number so I can give you a call when I return."

I agreed, and we exchanged details. He then told me things about bird vomit that I didn't really think were going to be as fascinating as they turned out to be, and some background about his research project.

By the time we reached the bus terminal we were fully three hours late. Between the hour or so delay from hitting the cow, and then the driver going at a lower speed in case of any problems, and then we struck full-on peak hour traffic as we came into the city!

"Do you have transport? I'm going to really have to dash across town to the airport, I'm afraid. I should be ok to make the flight, but I'm kind of cutting it fine," He was still thinking of me, despite what must be quite a frustrating situation for him.

"Oh," I sighed. "Yes. I'll have transport. No problems there."

The thoughts I had been avoiding started descending all around me, clinging to my brain and refusing to be shaken away. Yes, there would be a limousine waiting for me, to whisk me back to a more familiar world.

My aunt, who had raised me after my parents died some twenty years ago, had cooked up some strange plot to send me to a finishing school. I was disgusted. For starters, I was twenty two years old, and hardly needed schooling! But she felt I had "been spoiled", and "had no sense of perspective", and that I "lacked character", whatever that meant. Not that it would have mattered, except that she had it in her power to delay me getting my trust fund, ostensibly due to me at age 25, until as late as age 30 if she deemed it appropriate! So I had to do what the old battleax wanted if I didn't want to be a million years old before coming into my inheritance.

I don't even know how she knew about this finishing school. Some old acquaintance of hers runs the place, apparently. Anyway, it was just for the summer, then I would be back home, shopping and partying with my friends again.

I was still ruminating, with unresolved resentment and trepidation at the prospect, when the bus terminus finally came into sight. Everyone started eagerly preparing their belongings despite the driver asking them to remain seated, because everyone was, after all, three hours late.

I set my hero free, saying, "Hey, thanks for a nice time. You better run and grab a taxi. Do call me when you're back in the country, won't you. We have unfinished business. We had a deal!"

Then he kissed me. Can you believe it? After where my mouth, and my face had been just a couple of hours earlier...?

And then he scooted between a couple of people, under someone's arm, and out of sight at least half way down the bus before the doors even opened.

It would be another full five minutes before I got out the door into the cool morning air. My bare legs felt the briskness of the cool morning air, and the blouse did nothing to keep my nipples from coming to attention, but I wasn't too uncomfortable. The morning wasn't too cold, and soon I would be in a nice warm limo. I almost immediately spotted the driver with my name, neatly typeset, on a signboard. There were no other limo drivers collecting passengers from the bus terminal, and I reflected that it's probably not a frequent sight. I gave him a wave, and scooted around the throng collecting their baggage to reach him.

"Hi!" I greeted the rather attractive young man enthusiastically. Not because he was attractive, mind you. I was accustomed to filtering out the servers, drivers, and other help when it came to personal relationships. No, it was because he was my gateway back into luxury and comfort, an existence I was eager to resume.

With the cold air, and my barely sufficient covering, I felt it best to hold one arm across my breasts to conceal their enthusiastic extroversion. The whisps of cool air up and around my bottom were not apparent to anyone else, but I did put my other hand behind me as I skipped to a stop in front of him, as I had failed to account for the tiny skirt when I so eagerly rushed over.

"Good morning, miss. I imagine you're exhausted after your journey, but there are refreshments in the car. Shall I fetch your luggage?" I listened to what he said, which was all very nice, and watched his affect as he said it, which was all very polite. He was professional, polished, meticulously polite, and of course, detached. He cared about his professionalism, which meant attending to my needs, but he didn't directly care about me as a person. At least, if he did, he wasn't allowed to show it. I had never really thought about it before, but it was a strange sort of relationship, and one that I might never take for granted again.

"Oh, I was told, 'Strictly no baggage'. Apparently I will be provided a uniform, and everything I need?" I did add a hopeful questioning inflection, because if my Aunt had been wrong on this, it would be awfully embarrassing.

"Quite true, miss. I believe that's right. Just thought it best to check," he smiled kindly, although not with any particular warmth.

He led me back to the car and opened the door for me, whereupon I climbed into the back seat, A cavernous and, although I'd never thought so before, a lonely space, albeit pleasantly appointed. The driver slid into the driver's seat and announced, "The traffic's a bit heavy at the moment, miss, but we'll be at the manor in about 25 minutes. The are refreshments in the bar."

Because of course there were.

A fruit salad, greek yoghurt, and orange juice.

But I wasn't hungry. I just looked out the window wondering where the taxi rank was, and how far my new hero had gone to find his ride. In such a brief time, he had revealed something to me about my life, which would surely change the way I look at things forever. He showed me what actual caring looked like, real devotion, and kindness because of a human connection, not because of a social code, or a job.

We proceeded to be herded with the other traffic like so many head of sheep at shearing time, as I stared vacantly out the window and pondered all the help staff I had encountered in my life, and for the first time thought to wonder whether they liked me or hated me, whether they cared about me or not. In almost every case, I found I simply could not tell. The exception was my nanny when I was young. She left no doubt that she genuinely cared about me and my sister. But all the others...? I suddenly felt very lonely. Not primarily in the present moment, but more a loneliness over my whole life.

After a while, (presumably the 25 minutes predicted by my driver, but I wasn't invested enough to check), we came to a vast 5-way intersection near an ornately gated and walled public park. We turned across the traffic into a narrow lane way, and then into one of the many nondescript driveways. We paused while an automatic gate opened slowly for us, then rolled through sedately in to the grounds of a huge, lovely manor house. We crunched over the gravel driveway as it circled around to the front of the building where several maids were waiting for us, along with an older lady, presumably the matron. All were in old-fashioned outfits, which was quaint.

This might not be such a bad place, I thought to my self, as we rolled gracefully to a stop. If we're going to be inhabiting a recreated world of nineteenth century aristocracy, I could certainly put up with that. It might be fun!

The driver leaped out and strode around to open my door. I took a deep breath in anticipation of my return to a familiar world of luxury and pampering, surrounded by maids, drivers, butlers, gardeners, and every creature comfort. I emerged from the car to greet the assembled entourage with a broad smile.

"Young lady, what on earth is happening with that hair!", the old lady snapped. Her voice was not unkind, but something about it exerted a dominance, a power. She strode forward and scowled at my unkempt mop.

My smile collapsed, and suddenly, I found myself in a falling sensation. It's like those dreams where you wear you pyjamas to school. Everything goes along like normal, and then there's this moment where everyone notices and you are publicly humiliated. There's no escape, and it's devastating. Then you have that falling sensation and wake up.

But I didn't wake up. This was real. My stomach flipped as I realized I was standing in front of this beautifully costumed woman in my cum-starched, transparent blouse, sans bra, something-about-Mary hair, and a scandalously short skirt. My face flushed hot immediately, I felt the world spin, and I really did fall. I feinted.

Moments later, surrounded by the maids, I came to. They fussed over me sweetly, but as I waved them back, they cleared to each side revealing the older woman standing with the same scowl, looking down at me as I lay awkwardly on the gravel drive.

"I was told you were unaccustomed to traveling by bus, young lady, but is it really necessary to ensure you are told that wearing underwear would be appropriate?" she was staring at what my inadequate skirt had abandoned to public view as I fell. I grabbed at the tiny skirt and yanked it to provide what little cover it was capable of offering. I wanted to disappear. This was not the first impression I wanted to make. It was so awful. I wanted to cry.

One of the maids offered a hand, and in my humiliation I tried to both wrangle what little cover the skirt could provide, as I also took her hand and accepted the help to stand up. There was no point making any further effort at hiding my scandalous hair, my easily visible breasts, nor to keep tugging at the skirt, although I did do that.

I wanted the moment to end. Could it get any worse?

"Is this what I think it is," the older lady inquired with a raised eyebrow, making no attempt to minimize my discomfort. She pulled at the condom in my hair, taking several attempts to remove it because it was so tangled. She held it up as if to look more closely at it, but she had obviously already correctly discerned what it was. This was presumably to enhance my humiliation.

"A condom!" she exclaimed loudly. "You had a condom in your hair!" She added, as if anyone had missed it.

Some of the maids giggled. This was deeply incongruous, and even in my horror at my literal dressing-down, I recognized that laughter as being out of place. Some cog in my brain turned in contemplation that these maids should be disciplined for their impertinence. They had no business having an opinion about the lives of their superiors, even when it was a complete hollowing out of someone's dignity.

But no reprimand came. The older lady even held it aloft as if to show it to them, encouraging them to pile-on to my humiliation as they admired it.

The lady then stepped forward, face to face with me. "Look at me, young lady," she demanded. Her voice was authoritative, commanding, but not unkind.

I looked. As I met her eyes, she spoke, and her voice seemed to stretch into slow motion as she did, because my brain suddenly burst forth with so much imagery in response. She said, "How was your trip, dear?"

Even as her slow-motion voice echoed in my brain, I was involuntarily reliving every moment of the trip. I couldn't help it. The sequences flashed across my mind's eye, revisiting first my perverse fantasy, then my exhibitionist masturbation, my submission to the girl who stole my clothes, and finally the adventure I had with my coffee hero. Somehow I knew that not only was I recalling all this in vivid, hyper-real detail, but that she also was seeing it as I did. She was reading it in my eyes.

It all took less than two seconds. Then it was clear. I didn't know how, but this woman had pillaged my mind, seen my degrading acts, and even my own prurient enjoyment of it all. I was more naked before her than if I had been wearing no clothes. She saw everything.

She was waiting.

It took a moment to realize that her question hung pregnant between us. For the moment to end, I would have to answer it. "I... um. It was...," I blushed and looked away. "It was fine. Thank you." I would not be able to compete with this woman. I would have to submit to her. I had no defense against her ability to read me like a cheap novel.

"You may call me 'Miss Havisham'," she stated without emotion.

"It was fine. Thank you, Miss Havisham," I revised my answer meekly. I felt the same sense of being bested, overpowered, defeated, as I had when that woman was pushing the jelly python in and out of my mouth, and I was forced to accept it.

"Well, then!" she spun on her heel and headed for the grand, ornately carved double doors. "Girls, take her up and give her a thorough bath, put her in some proper clothes, and for goodness sake do something with that hair. Then meet me for lunch in an hour. Off you go!"

The girls whirled into action, taking by each arm and guiding me up the shallow steps to the front door, babbling about how we would get to know each other, and how they were looking forward to spending time together.

This was my clue, although I missed it at the time. They would not speak to an aristocrat that way. I was to be one of them. I would be a maid. A maid! Me!

But the other thing I didn't realize was how much I would enjoy it. Don't judge me.