The Bus Stop
By Amalova Notarita
|(FF, Exhib, TV, oral)|
It's late. The last bus may have gone. She glances round nervously at every noise. 'God, I hope I'm not waiting here long; please don't make me wait.'
She'd been warm walking from his car to here, but the sudden shower had caught her unprepared. A drop of water clings to a ringlet then leaves her hair, finds her bare neck and trickles down till it meets her dress, vanishing into the dampness of the thin material. This wasn't part of the plan.
A woman approaches, a little hesitantly; obliquely sees the shadowy figure in the shelter and waits, possibly till she can be sure of its size and gender, before entering the slightly tinted, metal and glass structure. It's new. The last one was demolished by a run-away lorry not so many months ago, causing several tragic fatalities; but there is at least an illusion of safety here within the transparent sconce, away from the open spaces, clear of the shadowy shop doorways where anything could be lurking. CCTV cameras sweep these once-troubled streets almost clean of disturbances now, the operatives on the lookout for anything new, anyone moving; two lo-fi shadows, innocuously waiting for a bus that may have gone, attract nothing more than a glance. Traffic here is at a minimum at this time of night - an occasional taxi or private car - and the wide, empty road the girl anxiously glances up is slick with the summer shower that just fell, and reflects the streetlights and the few still-lit window displays.
She secretly scans her new companion: the long double-breasted beige coat; the black boots whose leisurely clipped steps announced her arrival; her stunning, long, curly, red hair, which partially hides her face, and she is so relieved to be no longer alone. The coat reminds her of one that her friend's mum - an attractive, tall, successful business woman before her untimely death last year - used to wear, and she smiles wistfully, thinking of happier, secret times.
She whispers to herself, '...and the hair too...', remembering how the curls used to fall over her face.
How confident the woman looks, how successful she must be. This opinion is confirmed when a breeze whirls momentarily in the refuge they share - it strips the older woman of some atoms of her perfume, which impart their seductively expensive effects to the nostrils of the girl, making her close her eyes, relax a little, and inhale a little deeper with each cycle. Her eyes snap open as she remembers where she is, and she looks down at her own bare knees, feels her wet cotton dress clinging to her body, and she wishes she'd worn something a little less revealing, maybe something a little warmer. Like a little girl she crosses her arms across her breast and hugs herself, shivers a little and rubs her naked upper arms as if to erase the goose-pimples that are starting to rise there; her nipples are hard too and the movement of her forearms across them feels uncomfortable, forcing her to stop. Her thoughts bubble to the surface:
'Come on! How much longer?'
'Been here long?' The woman's whispered voice is barely audible over the hum of traffic that sifts through the surrounding buildings.
The girl jumps a little, surprised by this sudden invasion into her thoughts.
'A few minutes... I think we've missed it'.
'Damn!' The voice of someone used to getting what she wants. '...have to get a taxi'.
The woman searches through her small, black leather handbag, takes out her mobile phone. 'Where are you going, maybe we could share one?', she asks, the phone's light casting dancing shadows of coiled hair across her face.
The girl's eyes fall to her shoes.
'No, no thanks... I'll be OK... give it a few more minutes'.
She shuffles her feet and recommences rubbing her bare arms, aware that the woman, head tilted slightly, is looking at her through the veil of her red hair.
'Come on, you're all wet - where are you going?
'Sunnyside', the girl says a little apologetically, the irony of the place-name lost on neither of them. Sunny side it certainly is not.
'That's on my way... I live out past there... come on, I'll call a cab and we can wait here together'.
The voice again is no more than a whisper, but it's friendly and reassuring.
'Thanks', the girl says relieved, shivering again. 'That would be nice'.
The woman puts an arm around her, like a mother to a daughter, and squeezes the girl's shoulder.
'Come on, you're freezing. Join me in here'.
She smiles a conspiratorial semi-wink and unbuttons her coat, keeping it closed at first to keep the warmth in, then steps close and folds it around the girl, wrapping them both in the heat from her body. The girl forces a smile, surprised and embarrassed by this closeness from a stranger, but succumbs, though she keeps herself to herself as much as she can while enjoying the warmth and touch of the expensive garment. She remembers her friend's mum doing that in a similar moment's spontaneity, and the intimacy to which it eventually led, and her emotions are stirred by the memory. Time rewinds and she is back there now, safe in the arms of the woman who was, on the surface, like a second mother to her, but who in truth was much more. A little frozen, but melting all the time, she is like the drop of rain that fell from her hair to her neck: pausing, falling, then flowing slowly downwards, submerging herself in the material, losing herself in the perfume, her memories and the moment.
A distant car horn tears her from her reverie - images of the past, both the happy times and the sad - and she returns to the present as though waking suddenly from a dream. She struggles to maintain her grip on reality, unsure of where her imagination ends and reality begins, and of how to proceed - there is a hand stroking her bottom which is beyond the bounds of normality and acceptability, but, because of the memories the coat has uncovered, she still feels safe here, and doesn't pull away.
'It's ok... there, there.' The woman's voice is still even and calm, but her heart can be felt pounding against the girl's chest. 'You were gone for a minute there - where were you?'
The woman kisses her hair and still the girl stands there, static and confused; she would normally be running a mile through these rain-soaked streets, but, inexplicably, only an echo of unease wells up inside her and she is reluctant to break the cosy, redolent, intoxicating spell she is under.
'I was just thinking, remembering... you... you remind me very much of someone', and she rests her head on the woman's shoulder, smiling a knowing smile.
She isn't sure if this is the right thing to say, or even if this is the right thing to do... all she knows is who she is, where she is, and who she wants this woman to be.
The hand circles the girl's left buttock, the circles growing wider, only millimetres at a time, but the progress is obvious and inexorable. Now the fingers bunch some of the flimsy material up, and now some more; she feels her bottom being exposed inch by inch... and now the finger tips are on her flesh causing her to gasp a little - a bystander would not know if it was in fear or excitement. The hand's motion is now lateral, across her bottom, flesh to flesh, and between her taut cheeks to the inside of her thigh - instinctively she parts her legs a little, making it easier, encouraging the woman to touch her so. This feels so good, so natural - it is not how he touches her: it's more gentle; more compassionate; more loving. It is sexual, she is sure, but it still contains the elements of motherliness, of protection, that she felt so endearing from the very first exchange.
History and the present are twisting together like the fibres in a rope, becoming stronger with every turn. From most angles, if someone was to come across them standing so, they would think little wrong of it - maybe just a mum and daughter or two close friends, simply having a goodbye hug at a bus stop.
But the innocent appearance is quickly dispelled. The woman's kisses move to the younger one's neck, but the moment for protest has gone and the girl stands still, as if pre-programmed to be passive; eyes wide open, nervously taking in the glistening streets and flashing chemist's sign. She listens for the purr of an approaching vehicle, the echoing clip-clop of another's shoes, whilst feeling the hand moving between her legs and the hot kisses on her neck. She is scared but exhilarated too, the adrenaline rushing through her washes away her inhibitions and her hands hesitantly begin to move: firstly over her own body, as if to rehearse how she will touch the woman; over her right thigh, belly, breast, seeking out her nipple and twisting it, pulling it. It is no longer uncomfortable to do so; she feels a connection from there that goes right to her core and then back into her groin, right to the tip of her sexuality and she moans gently. She looks down the woman's body, now that passion has overcome the desire to cover-up, and sees how she is dressed under the open coat: silk camisole and knickers, stockings and suspenders. No dress! She had walked the streets like this, to this place, maybe to find her - perhaps she had chosen her and followed her here. Maybe... The thoughts fill her with excitement and she feels the heat between her legs. The woman's left hand is on the girl's left breast, twisting and pulling the nipple in time with the girl's self-stimulation; the hand between her thighs is now inside her panties and the girl waits expectantly for the fingers to enter her.
Breath is on her cheek and then their lips meet for the first time and passion flows freely between them, their tongues play and intertwine. The girl suddenly pulls her mouth away, panting in pleasure.
'Oh my God', she whispers, 'What are you?'
'I am here for you tonight, my sweetheart. I will hold you, take care of you, love you. Have you ever been loved by a woman?'
'No... never... I...', she hesitates as the betrayal in her words start to eat at her. 'I... I have been loved... she was...'
The woman interrupts her: 'Then give yourself to me, trust me; I'll take care of you... I am here for you. I can help you.'
The fingers stoke the girl's wet cunt lips and then begin to enter her from behind, making her push her bottom backwards and open her legs so she can be penetrated deeper. Now the woman falls to her knees keeping her fingers in their hot, slippery enclave - the girl gives out a muffled cry, folds her arms across her body again, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable, and looks around feverishly, imagining at any moment to be found out. She feels something cold and hard against her thigh, moving upwards towards her waist; sees a flash of steel, hears a snip. Now the other leg, then another snip, and feels her wet knickers being pulled between her legs. The burst of fear that froze her, quickly thaws as she sees the woman press the ruined garment to her nose and mouth, inhale the fragrance and kiss it, before stuffing both it and the scissors she used to cut it free into her coat pocket.
Now the woman's mouth is on her mound and she feels only kissing and nibbling and the motion of her fingers inside her. She parts her legs some more, again suddenly aware where she is standing: in the middle of town, playing with her own hard nipples through her wet cotton dress, while her exposed, neatly trimmed, naked cunt is being eaten by someone - a woman at that - whom she has never met. Ten minutes ago she was alone, vulnerable, a little frightened; now she cares for nothing other than to feel the pleasure that surges through her, and the world melts away. Then, in a brief moment of self-awareness, she shoots nervous looks down the adjoining streets, but there is no-one in sight. Slowly she sinks once again into the ecstasy created by the fingers and mouth working upon her body; the rumble of distant traffic and the last rumbles of resistance and doubt are fading completely. They are alone, but have no real privacy, and the girl knows it; the knowledge adds to the excitement, gives it an infinite source of power. She thrusts out her chest, twists her nipples and stares straight into the roof-top camera across the road, then rolls her eyes and licks her lips provocatively. She undoes a couple of buttons on the front of her dress and stretches the wet cotton round her firm breasts, exposing them to the night air.
'Look at me you nosy bastards! Look at these!', and she jiggles them around, feeling almost faint with passion as the woman continues to finger-fuck and lick her.
A guttural roar, and a black taxi is quickly upon them, lights blinding them, silhouetting them for a moment, before it turns down a side road and is gone. The girl slowly lowers the hands that instinctively covered her face and breasts, and a release washes over her in the relative silence that follows, making her senses even more acute.
'Fucking hell, I think they saw us... Oh God, this is so good... lick me, eat me... fingers deeper... oh yes... make love to me, love me... don't leave me... again... oh, yes... make me cum... before we're caught... oh yes, don't stop...oh, oh, oh... my God... I'm coming...'.
Two fingers fuck her steadily and the woman's tongue laps eagerly at the swollen clitoris. Another finger starts to probe her, merely looking for lubrication. She feels her arse being tentatively explored, then the hole is found; the finger enters her and this is all too much. The girl throws back her head and sees the street lights, diffused and diffracted through the roof of the plexi-glass shelter, begin to swirl. Another roar, but this time it's the blood rushing through her head, the amber glow above her turns first to rainbows, then to blackness. She grunts and cries and her belly contracts in waves, causing her to shudder and almost lose her balance. The woman holds on to her, supporting her. The orgasm peaks and subsides and the girls stand sobbing, hands to her face. The woman, still on her knees holding her up, smiles and closes her eyes, kisses her there one more time before withdrawing her fingers slowly. Sinking exhausted to her knees to join her lover, the girl's arms fall around the woman's neck, their foreheads rest together. Her breath is still taken in short gasps. The memory of the orgasm is still fresh in her body and mind, and echoes of it reverberate through her with every move the woman makes; with every reassuring word, every tender squeeze, and every brief kiss.
After a few seconds the girl comes suddenly to her senses, wipes the tears from her eyes, stands up quickly, pulls down and straightens her dress, looks around; nervous, giggling and giddy.
'That was fantastic. Thank you... oh, yes, fucking hell, thank you.'
'There's something you can do for me', the woman whispers after a few seconds, her voice as soft as the silk of her cami top. 'Come here... please, sweetheart, come over here.'
The woman sits on the barstool-height metal rungs that serve as a seat in the shelter and motions the girl to her. Opening her legs, she pulls the girl between them, kisses her on the mouth.
'Turn around, darling.'
The girl again looks confused, but not for the first time tonight, she does what she is told against all her instincts. Behind her she can hear the sound of silk on silk; her short dress is lifted and she feels what must be the woman's knickers being pressed between her legs from behind, feels the material entering her. Still looking forward, mouth open, panting, unable to believe they have yet to be disturbed, she feels the silk-sheathed finger fuck her gently, then withdraw; she senses the material slide sensuously across her bum and up, into the face, possibly the mouth, of the woman seated behind her, who, for the first time tonight, moans in approval.
'Sit down, sweetheart... sit slowly, don't look... I have something for you... let me guide you.'
The girl lowers herself, directed by a pair of firm hands on her buttocks, towards the woman's lap... until something warm - slightly giving, soft to the touch, but hard all the same - rests against her swollen wet lips.
'Shh, sweetheart, trust me... sit down, I will guide you still.'
Not daring to look behind, she sits slowly down, feeling her cunt being opened up, taken from behind. The object is wide, it hurts her, but she lowers herself further and further until she sits on the woman's lap; her cunt totally stretched, tightly surrounding what feels for all the world like a very large cock.
'Fuck me!' Again the whisper, but now more urgent.. 'Fuck me!'
She is shocked but does as she is told. Moving slowly up and then down, the girl is entered to her full depth and then taken to the very tip of whatever is between her thighs, down again till their skin slaps together... again she rises. Arms come around her, hands clasp her naked breasts, and she is steered and instructed by these; up and down, slowly gaining momentum. Her nipples are being squeezed hard and the rear entry is stimulating that special place this position sometimes finds for her. Aroused again, she reaches down between her legs to where the woman's mouth was seconds before, and starts, with two fingers, to rub her clit, feels the wet mix of saliva and her juices already there. Now her hand starts to explore lower, and she briefly touches the object that penetrates her so fully and powerfully. The woman moans... Suddenly a clatter of footsteps... someone is approaching quickly from their right.
'Sit still. Just do as I say. Lean back against me and sit still till they are gone.'
She complies quickly, maybe too quickly, as the woman lets out another long, low moan and an almost inaudible 'Oh... fuck... me.', through gritted teeth.
A surprisingly real young man in a suit and tie invades their dream, pauses only slightly in his journey to throw them a quizzical, then dismissive glance, and proceeds across the street, following the road the taxi took some minutes before.
It's as if he has broken a spell, caused time to start moving again. Rowdy, drunken voices split the night, still a few hundred yards off, but definitely coming towards them; the first drunken revellers being expelled from the clubs, seeking kebabs, pizzas, somewhere to piss, and then a taxi home. The woman pushes the girl away, making her stand up, then turns her around and pulls her to her knees. The streetlights are not bright in here - much of it is reflected away - and the woman's coat is drawn around her, hiding much of her body. Despite this, what is unmistakably a large, hard, glistening penis protrudes and stares the girl in the face.
'Finish me off... quick! Before they get here... don't let the drunken bastards spoil it.'
Two hands grab the girl's hair and force her mouth around the swollen tip. She gags as the cock enters her. It's real, very hard, wide and hot, and covered in her juices; salty pre-cum seeps from the end as if to convince her of its veracity. It stretches her mouth and she sucks hungrily, urgently, not wanting it to end like this, but praying it will soon be over; she feels hands inside her dress, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples.
The whispered voice is now lower, almost a growl.
'Suck me... suck me... oh yes.. suck me off... into your mouth... ...want to cum in your mouth... uh... uh... oh God!'
The approaching voices grow louder, a bottle or glass is smashed against a nearby wall with a burst of accompanying laughter, and she is sucking, licking and wanking as frantically as she can; cupping the balls, rubbing and entering the arse with a spit-covered index finger, using all her skill to produce a quick climax. The unmistakable first contractions begin, the breathing is accompanied by hoarse, guttural sounds and her mouth is suddenly filled with hot, thick spunk, which she manages to swallow... another contraction and more hits the back of her throat causing her to gag, but she swallows again... another spurt... she sucks out what she feels must be the remainder and then licks the tip clean. A shout comes from just around the corner; the echo sounds only milliseconds afterwards. A can is kicked noisily into view. The girl stands frozen as if in the glare of searchlights, heart beating, cum on her chin which she wipes away with her hand... a last parting shot hit her neck as she stood and that now dribbles down to meet the raindrop of a few minutes before.
'Come on! Come on, let's get out of here!'. The voice, no longer a whisper, is deep and insistent.
She feels a tug on her hand. They exchange disbelieving glances and then they are running together, holding hands, splashing in puddles, laughing, ecstatic... retracing the steps they took individually not so many minutes ago; the brief time they shared the shelter, every second of which was filled with bright, sparking emotion, now seems to have lasted for hours. They turn a corner and see the familiar row of parking-meters, a solitary car. The remote-control beeps and the indicators flash. They reach the vehicle before another group of people stumble from a noisy nearby bar, and they are soon safe inside, the air suddenly dead and still, the screen starting to mist with the heat from their damp bodies. He locks the doors, puts his hands on his bare knees, breathing hard. He takes off his wig, and she hers, and they toss them simultaneously, ceremoniously, into the back seat. Out of breath, she slowly turns to him, then explodes into delirious sound and motion.
'Fuck me, that was fantastic... I expected a kiss, a quick grope, maybe not even that... perhaps just a suggestive conversation before you left me... I was so turned on, just to be there with you, dressed like that ... but that! Fucking hell! Fu - ck - ing hell!
She holds her head in her hands, nails scraping her scalp like a wide, ten-toothed comb, a huge incredulous smile on her face. Uncontrollable laughter simultaneously erupts from both of them.
'That gave the spying bastards a show... fucking hell! I bet they were wanking themselves mad in there... And you cut my knickers... you bastard!'
He dangles them in her face and she snatches for them, but he's too fast for her and pulls them away just in time.
'These are mine!' he taunts, and he puts them to his face, inhaling deeply.
'You fucking perve!' She laughs again. 'Jesus, I am soooo fucking turned on! Take me home, take that gear off, rip this dress off me and fuck me again but like the man you really are...'
She suddenly falls silent, serious. She kisses him gently on the lips, strokes his smooth, freshly-shaven face, and looks intently into his eyes.
'Thank you. Thanks for everything... thanks for not asking why... the coat, the wig, the silk... I never...' She hesitates. 'It was something I had to do, I just... just needed to sort something out...'. She curls up her nose in that delightful way of hers, ' to... to say goodbye to someone... at the bus stop.'
A few seconds of silent contemplation. 'Ha!' She laughs as if to lighten the moment, 'You choose next time.'
'Next time? What fucking next time?'
The delicately applied make-up is now smudged, his face a parody of a woman: a false mole away from a pantomime dame. She narrows her eyes playfully, pouts then smiles.
'Yeah, next time. I'll fuck you, no matter where we are, no matter what the fuck you're dressed as. I know! We'll be two gay guys and I'll fuck you with a strap-on!'
Their laughter drowns out the sound of the engine sparking into life; the car pulls away from the kerb and disappears, squealing, round the corner and into the night.
© Copyright 2008 Amalova Notarita