Route 121

She stepped onto the bus. The smell of gasoline, exhaust and partially cleaned bodies, roasted by the July sun, filled her nose. The odor was thick and foul in the air, heavy enough to have a discernable weight upon her bare, sweat glistened arms.

She managed to push past the offensive aroma and set her eyes to the task of finding her seat. They swept quickly over the nameless faces as she walked down the aisle. Her short gray pleated skirt flapped against her bare ass. The tight-fitting outfit she was instructed to wear cut into the extra inches of her tummy. She had the urge to tug at the waistline and slide her hands down over her ass to keep the skirt from swaying, but she fought it. She accepted the small flaunting of her overly round bottom and found the tiny breeze that fanned over her pantyless crotch pleasant, in contrast to the humid fumes of public transportation.

A Chicago Tribune on an empty seat greeted her. She raised her eyes to the gentleman in the connecting seat. He was intently reviewing his own paper. His dark, salt and pepper brow furrowed in concentration. Silver rimmed half spectacles pinched the end of his honest nose. He didn't acknowledge her approach. She almost didn't want to disturb him but she needed to take a seat. Tentatively, she leaned in towards the man and spoke softly.

"Is this seat taken?"

Half a second passed. She wasn't sure that he had heard her. Before she could part her lightly glossed lips to ask again he looked up. Gray eyes, pale as a winter sky, stared into hers. She shivered despite the beads of sweat collecting inside her sleeveless blouse. The cold hardness of the man's eyes made her want to cower and quickly find another place to sit. Instead she lowered her eyes.

He spoke, "Have a seat."

He snapped his paper shut then opened the thick top half of the Chicago Tribune to reveal a dildo. The transparent, ocean blue jelly surface gleamed against the newsprint.

The man took the toy in his hand, holding it upright. She made one nervous glance around the capsule of the bus then slid into the row. Before she sat down she flipped the hem of her skirt, flashing her bare cheeks. The honey blended musk of her readiness wafted into the man's face.

She sat down without looking where her bottom would settle. The bus suddenly lurched forward onto Route 121. The dildo thumped hard on her pelvic bone then slipped roughly over her clit. She whimpered low in her throat, instantly excited. Her naughty center began to throb and beg for more. She braced her hands on the seat back in front of her. With a small wiggle of her hips, she pushed the full helmet partially into her hole. Her breath caught. She shuddered. A fiery tingle danced down from the follicles of her scalp to her thick thighs, which now began to tremble from holding her weight.

As instructed she hadn't succumb to the need between her legs for a week. She lingered in the initial sensations for a moment. How sweet the first drink was after an extended thirst. Greedily, she pushed her pussy down over the shaft. There was no resistance, just the liquid splendor of arousal and the hard pressure of the mocked manhood. Her mind focused on the solitary pleasure springing from the well of her deepest desires. It seemed forever before she consumed the full extent of her fellow passenger, but when she did she wanted to call out that being filled completely in length and girth made her want to climax right away and yet, she languished in the wanton motion that sent her bottom and pussy down into the man's fingers. His large knuckles sank into the swollen lips of her pussy. She attempted to rock her hips rhythmically against them in pursuit of stimulation for her clit.

The man moved his hand from underneath her but not before his slender fingers were slathered with her warm juices. He brought his hand up to his face, turning it over and over, inspecting it, watching the light play off the slippery coating. She wanted him to take a long lick of his fingers so she could transfer that image into a sensation on her pussy. Instead, he retrieved a white handkerchief from his suit jacket and wiped each finger then shoved the rumpled and sticky cloth into his pocket. He cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses and resumed reading.

Her body screamed in protest.

"Touch me,"

it pleaded

"Lick me,"

it cried.

"Fuck me,"

it whispered.

She crossed her arms on the seat in front of her and hid her eyes against them. The bus made a sharp turn. Her leg briefly brushed his and her need was once again called to a level that she could not, would not ignore. She forced her hips down into the seat cushion. There was a loud squeak from the soft skin of her thighs catching against the vinyl surface. It hurt a little, a feeling like ripping off an old band-aid, but she ignored it. She pressed harder until she found the vibration of the bus engine. It traveled through the toy's surface and hummed deep within her. She shifted her back and held very still to concentrate the tiny reverberations onto her cervix. She was only able to be still for a few moments. The bus had turned again. The right set of wheels found several bumps and potholes in succession. Up and down her ass bounced in opposition with the bus. The toy moved inside her like the most aggressive of lovers; eager to thrust their full length into her, focused on bottoming out and only pleased once she screamed in pain and gasped for more.

She leaned farther forward, arching her back. The now wet surface of the toy's balls became a perfect surface to grind against her clit. The sensation was so good, her arousal so high, she couldn't prevent the orgasm from surging through her. She bit down, her arm becoming a gag against the thrilled declarations escaping her mouth.

She flung herself back; her arms limp at her sides. Unknowingly the dildo popped into a new position. It pressed into a zone she hadn't even known she had. She gritted her teeth, but not hard enough to hold back a lusty groan. She looked over to the man; certain this would gain her favor over the business section. His face remained icy and still. He licked his finger and she was captivated by the pink wet vision of his tongue. It flicked out swiftly to moisten his finger to aid in turning the page. She yearned for his tongue to be on her erect nipples or maybe he could take her nipple between his moisten fingers and twist them, pull them like they needed.

She tugged on the hem of her skirt in frustration. He had to look at her. That's all she needed. One glace, one smile of approval was all she wanted in place of his touch. She turned away from him and looked for another set of eyes, any set of eyes that she could perform for but there were none.

She let out a pitiful sigh and allowed her hurt to melt and flood the banks of her want. Eyes closed, she started again, finding the rhythm of the engine. She wanted to feel good again. She wiggled wetly, seductively and crazed in her seat. She chased her orgasm viciously, clinching her inner walls around her toy. On and on she worked. She tensed her body in preparation for the orgasm but it eluded her. Harder she pressed, then she added a small lift of her bottom. The thrust was what she needed. One more - one more - close - close , she repeated in her mind. Her blood sped through her veins, filling her limbs, her cheeks, her sex. The July sun burned and flashed like a strobe light on her clenched lids as it ran in and out from behind buildings, trees and telephone poles. She gripped the seat. Tiny silent pants came from her as she delved deep and chased harder for the elusive tail of her orgasm. When she caught it; it was more as if it had caught her in its searing grip. It squeezed tighter, tighter and tighter still, then swallowed her whole in momentary suffocation. When it passed over her it was refreshing and renewing like the wind after a summer storm.

Her eyes fluttered open and scanned her surroundings. Half the passengers were gone but the man remained beside her reading the last page of the paper. Without glancing around, without turning her way, he gathered his belongings. He meticulously folded the paper as the bus came to a stop.

"This is where I get off."

She leaned back and averted her legs to allow him to pass. She was astounded to see a thick firmness fighting against the fabric of his trousers. He was halfway down the aisle before the impulse to grab his waist and thrust her face against his crotch transmitted to her arms. He was the last passenger to step off the bus before it pulled away from the curb. She leaned to the window to find him among the crowded street. She spotted his gray hair and dark suit quickly. He didn't look back.

She settled back into the seat. As discretely as possible she withdrew the toy and wrapped it in the newspaper. The cell phone clipped to her hip chimed with an incoming text message. She read:

"THAT'S MY NAUGHTY GIRL!"

She smiled, finally completely satisfied.

*

2005 © Nicole Best

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