The Bus Station I

I stood and looked at myself in the hallway mirror. Dark hair pulled back, eyes wide and nervous looking. My thick winger coat buttoned up so high the hollow of my throat was hidden.

So was the play collar wrapped around that throat.

Time to go.

Taking my courage in both hands, I pulled the door open and stepped out into the night. My high heels rang out against the pavement as I walked.

Eight o’clock, he said. It was ten to now, and the bus station was fifteen minutes away.

I was going to be late, not a good start.

But it had taken longer than I’d thought just to slide my coat over my shoulders, still the trembling in my hands enough to do up the buttons.

It wasn’t a cold night, but I felt the thin breeze wrap around my naked legs, sneak its way into the small gaps in my coat. I shivered, wrapping my arms across my chest. A group of boys erupted from an off-licence just as I was passing, their boisterous laughter cutting though my anxious thoughts, and I shied violently, almost turning my heel. I wasn’t used to these shoes. They were too high, the point needle thin. I never wore them normally, but instructions were instructions.

It was with both relief and a growing sense of dread that I saw the lurid lights of the bus station. silhouettes milled about beneath the floodlights, but for the most part it was quiet.

On a Wednesday night, most people had long since travelled home from work, and the few revellers who might venture out mid-week were still warm and cosy in bars and restaurants, enjoying whatever company they’d found.

Stand number 15 was right in the heart of the bus station. The electronic sign above it announced that the 8.20 to Motherwell was on time, but there was only one passenger waiting to travel.

Waiting for me.

He was sat on the narrow bench, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His hands were tucked into the front pocket of the hoodie that he wore. His face was in shadow, those powerful eyes hidden as he contemplated his feet. He didn’t look up, not even when I halted in front of him.

“What time is it?” he asked.

I hesitated, then tugged my sleeve back enough to check my watch.

“Eight oh seven,” I replied.

“And what time were you to be here?”

“Eight.” It took a moment to force that word out, but I managed.

He made me wait a moment long, then lifted his gaze. They were grey, those eyes. Unremarkable beneath almost gentle eyebrows.

But the look in them, there was nothing gentle about that.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered, but he cut off any further excuses with a tiny shake of his head.

“Come here.”

I already was there, but I took a step forward anyway, moving into the space he created as he uncrossed his legs and widened his stance.

His hands drew mine away from my body and then went to the belt I’d tied tightly at my waist. Nimble fingers unpicked the knot I’d created, stripping away the barrier.

Next he went to the buttons of my coat, slipping them free one at a time.

Agonisingly slowly.

The jacket was fairly loose on me, so it didn’t peel apart straight away, only glimpses of bare skin peeking through as he worked his way down. Still, I glanced guiltily around the almost deserted bus station as if I was naked.

I felt naked.

The last button slid free. Rather than pulling it back, he ran his hands up and down the edges, his thumbs just brushing my skin beneath.

“I hope you followed instructions,” he murmured, those eyes fixed on my face. I couldn’t return his gaze. My throat choked, I jerked my head in a nod.

“To the letter.”

And they had come in a letter. Though the post, marked with a stamp and addressed to me in beautiful flowing script. My flatmate had been so nosy about who might be writing to me I’d almost opened the fucking thing. When I’d retreated to the safety of my room and broken the seal, drawing the thin sheet of paper out, I’d felt both a pool of dread in my belly and a delicious clench ever lower still.

High heels, play collar, winter coat. Nothing else. In truth, my coat was a little warm for November, but with no shirt or blouse or underwear beneath it, I’d felt chilled.

I didn’t feel chilled now. My face burned as he slowly drew the sides of my coat apart and exposed my nakedness underneath.

“Good girl,” he murmured.

Good girl. The things I did for those two simple words.

Hands went to my breasts, massaging them lightly. I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to focus on the sensation and not the fact we were in a bus station where a bus was due to arrive in ten minutes. It was private for now, just the two of us cocooned in the faux privacy of the perspex enclosure, but that could change at any moment.

I’d die if any other travellers joined us, because I knew from experience that company wouldn’t stop him.

At the same time... I flicked my eyes open, darted them about, flitting from stranger to stranger, almost daring them to change their plans and come join us.

A sharp sting on both my nipples made my gasp, drew my attention back to him. I looked down at the same time as the tinkle of a steel chain unfurling dimly registered.

I had just enough time to think No, before the clamps were in his hands, fingers pinching at the mechanism, pincers reaching for me. He fastened them with precise, methodical movements, forehead frowning slightly as he concentrated on his task. When they were both attached, the sharp pinch quickly dimming to a throbbing ache, he smiled, playing with the chain now dangling loosely between my breasts.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured.

He lifted that smile up to my face and then patted the bench beside him.

“Sit.”

So we sat, side by side in the bus shelter, just two people waiting for our lift home. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that I was nearly naked and almost fully exposed, my breasts easily visible beneath my jacket, the chain winking cheekily beneath the harsh yellow lights.

An old couple came along, mumbling hellos before the woman took a seat just on the other side of Sir. They chatted about a film they’d both watched at the cinema. Idle chit chat punctuated with the occasional soft laugh, completely oblivious to how much my heart was threatening to burst out of my chest.

Darting a glance at Sir, I dared to cross my legs, shielding my most private space from view. He looked down at me and I held my breath, waiting, but he didn’t comment. He placed a hand on my exposed length of thing, palm warm on my chilled skin.