The Bus Station II

It was a comforting gesture, but also a warning. This, but no more. I wasn’t stupid. Though I was desperate to button my coat back up - a desperation that grew even stronger when a young man, maybe early twenties, joined the small group, standing just three feet in front of me, his headphones in his ears and his gaze on his phone - I kept my fingers curled around the thin firmness of the bench.

If I was foolish enough to try and cover myself, I would find myself sitting without my jacket.

I glanced over at him and saw he was smiling slightly, knew he was thinking the same thing.

When the bus arrived, it took every ounce of control I possessed not to wrap my coat around me anyway.

The bus driver threw me no more than a contemptuous glance as he perused his late-night passengers, but I felt like he saw everything.

My naked breasts. The clamps held tight to my nipples. My cunt, hidden by my crossed legs.

“Come on, baby.” His voice got me to my feet when I wanted to curl up and hide in the transparent safety of the bus shelter. I hunched my shoulders and the jacket dropped forwards, mostly hiding me from view. The width of his shoulders did the rest and I was able to make it onto the bus and past the driver without exposing myself.

He paid for the tickets then guided me down the central aisle with a hand in the small of my back.

The old couple frowned at me slightly, but their eyes were on my face, which was a frozen mask of humiliation, rather than my nakedness, which was breaking free with every hesitant step.

“Are you all right, dear?” the old woman asked as I drew level. Her slightly clouded gaze went over my shoulder to Sir, white, almost invisible eyebrows creased with disapproval.

“Agnes-,” her husband looked embarrassed, but she shrugged off his restraining hand on my arm.

“I’m fine,” I managed, smiling tremulously. “Just tired.”

I hurried past, making for a bench near the back, away from everyone else.

“No.” His voice was low and deep in my ear, and it stopped my dead.

I allowed him to guide me right to the back of the bus, relief making my dizzy.

When I reached the bench seat along the rear wall of the bus, though, I realised I’d relinquished my anticipation too soon.

He took a seat in to the left, then positioned my in the middle, directly in front of the aisle running the length of the bus.

Directly in the line of sight of the driver should he look in the mirror hung above his seat.

The old couple or the young man, should they happen to glance back.

Hands moving almost idly, he rearranged my jacket so that my breasts - and that shiny, eye-catching chain - were easily visible. He tugged at the bottom of my jacket, drawing it away from my body, until my legs were revealed, not crossed this time, but pressed tightly together.

“Open,” he said.

I couldn’t. I absolutely could not.

I dragged in a shuddering breath and shook my head.

I wanted to look at him, plead for mercy with my eyes, but then I’d have to acknowledge the command, eye to eye. And after that, I’d be expected to obey.

He waited for the length of three rapid heartbeats then tugged on the chain, hard.

“Open.”

Oh God. Oh fuck. If I didn’t do it now, he’d make me.

Carnation. My safe word wavered in my head, ready to jump to my tongue, but I didn’t utter it. Because though my stomach was cramped with nerves, my skin slick with stress sweat, my clit was pounding hard and I knew I was wet enough that he could bend my over the seat in front and slam into me with one powerful thrust.

I was dying of mortification, but I was also more turned on than I could remember being in my life.

“Three, two-”

Before he could finish the countdown and seal my fate for a vicious punishment when we finally made it home, I opened my legs.

Wider than was decent, even had my legs been sheathed in denim. Enough to expose all of me, the humid air of the bus heating cool against my heated flesh.

Was it my imagination, or did the bus driver glance back? The distance was too far for me to tell but I imagined it. Him seeing me, seeing everything.

“Good girl.”

There they were, those two fucking words again.

I didn’t know how they had the power to make everything alright, but they did. So much so that I didn’t object by so much as a whisper as his hands drifted down to whisper over my thigh. Lower, until he was reaching the heart of me.

He played there, gently, lighting, showing his approval of the wetness at my core with a low grunt, dipping his fingers in and then running them up to my clit.

I gasped then, legs twitching as I fought the urge to close them. I was sensitive, already throbbing.

I tensed, waiting for a terse word or a painful smack against the tender flesh on the inside of my thigh, but he only crooned softly, understanding.

His understanding only went so far, however. He gave me a moment to adjust to his touch, then started circling my clit with firm fingers, just the way I liked.

I reached out and grabbed the metal handrail at the top of the seat above, holding on to it for dear life as he fingered my on the bus, in full view of the spattering of passengers and the driver.

“Please,” I pleaded, as I felt it start to build. “Don’t make. I can’t-,”

“Yes, you can. You will.”

Fuck.

There was nothing to do but stare straight ahead, eyes glued to the mirror above the bus driver, both hoping he’d look and praying he wouldn’t, as I came with a low gasp and a full body tremble. He rang it out of me, a second hand clamping down on my thigh and keeping my exposed as pleasure passed into sensitivity and I fought to pull away from him.

I thought I’d scream when he finally ceased his ministrations, rubbing gently instead, rewarding me for my bravery, my endurance.

It wasn’t quite over yet. When he drew his hand away, my instinct was to grab at my coat, pull it tightly round me. Instead I waited as he lifted his fingers to my mouth and fed them to me to suck clean.

When I’d removed every trace of myself, he closed my coat over himself, doing up the buttons with the same care with which he’d released them.

Not glancing to see where they were, he hit the button to call to the driver to stop.

I didn’t think my legs were strong enough to hold me, but I somehow managed to stand, made it down the aisle, clumsily navigated the steps in the middle.

I resolved to ignore the bus driver as I stepped off, but I couldn’t help throwing him a glance. The look he gave me back left no room for uncertainty.

He knew. He saw.

I paused, made sure I had his complete attention.

And smiled.