A Suitable Answer

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He leaned against the wall, trying to appear nonchalant as he more than obviously stared at my breasts. Reaching into the pocket of his trousers, I could see from the corner of my eye that he was stroking himself. His tongue slithered out to wet the bottom of his chapped and bleeding lips. I could not help but watch him. He grinned upon noticing my gaze and said something I did not hear. I paused, then, having asked him to repeat, he questioned me about what type of underwear I was wearing. He wanted to know if I was wearing a thong, or cotton panties. Maybe I was into lace? Or perhaps I liked it better when I was wearing nothing at all under my skirt.

I gazed at him, unable to think of a suitable answer. Perhaps sensing my hesitation, he continued. He asked me if I sometimes wore the same pair of underwear for days on end, letting them grow crusty and stale. If I liked to make my lovers sniff my soiled panties. I unfolded, then refolded my hands in my lap. Looking up at him, I guessed his age lay somewhere between thirty and forty. I watched this man as his movements quickened, his breathing becoming erratic. I smoothed my hands over my brown skirt. Since his body was turned towards me, I could see beads of sweat erupting from his forehead.

As one of the beads broke free and raced down the side of his face, I was shocked as I found myself wanting to taste it. I refolded my hands again, trying to distract myself from the urge to touch, to lick his sweat off of him. He was gasping by then, grunting quietly. It was only then that I realised how short of breath I was becoming. I could tell that this man knew what he was doing to me. He stared directly into my eyes constantly asking about my underwear. His tongue slid from his mouth to taste one of the escaping beads of sweat. As it fell on his tongue and into his mouth I unconciously ran my own tounge over my lips. I shifted slightly in my seat, trying desperatly to ignore how much I wanted to taste him for myself.

He grinned lopsidedly. Though half-lidded eyes I stared as he continued to touch himself. I could no longer convince myself that I wasn't turned on by his actions. Panting openly I watched him with growing intensity. A truck rushed past unnoticed, the wind tugging at the hem of my skirt. Across the street, an empty wrapper was lifted from the ground before being discarded once more. I was so aware of the wooden bench I was seated on pressing against my thighs, my back. All of this sort only to heighten my arousal.

I then realised that I had not answered his question. I looked him in the eye and simply stated, "Cotton panties, black." He gasped and shuddered, reaching his climax. As the bus I was waiting for pulled up, he pushed off from the wall and came toward me, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Grabbing my hand, he rubbed his face against it. His sweat dampened my skin. Then he let go, took a step backward and was gone.

I stood, and shakily put out my left hand, so as to signal the bus. I was concious of the damp that lay between my legs, and of the ache that my whole lower self was devoted to. As I choose my seat on the near-empty bus, I glanced at my hand. It was still damp. Opening my mouth, I sucked on my fingers. His sweat was salty, bitter. His sweat was good. I was still aching, I needed more. Glancing around quickly, I slipped my hand inside my jacket and tugged roughly on my already hard nipples. I bit my lip so as not to make a sound. I slowly unzipped my skirt at the side. Still watching the other passengers, I snaked my hand past my waistband and slipped it into my underwear.

A cough startled me, and I froze. My body screamed in protest. Biting my lip harder I gently began rubbing my clitorus in a rythmic fashion, barely touching, teasing myself. I rocked gently as the first wave of pleasure hit me. A bead of my own sweat broke free from my hairline and ran directly into my mouth. I could not contain a small gasp as I tasted the salty liquid on my tongue. It mingled with the lingering taste of the man at the bus stop.

I swayed with the bus as it picked it's way though the darkening streets. I gave myself over to the sensations plauging my body. My breath was ragged as I thrust my fingers deeper inside myself. So afraid of being noticed by the surrounding passengers, few as they were, I bit my lip even harder. The flesh finally yeilded and I drew blood. That was all it took and my body spasmed silently, consumed by my orgasm.

I withdrew my hand quietly and opened my purse to secure a tissue. Re-zipping my skirt, I cleaned my hand. Looking up, I realised that I had succeded in being undetected. I sighed silently in the aftermath of my orgasm and smoothed my skirt.

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