Is the Tramp a Lady?

John Elliot drove the bus into the depot with a sigh of relief. His muscles ached from being in the driving seat for the last eight hours with only two short breaks. Switching the engine off, he stood and turned to make a quick visual check of the bus.

"Ma'am?" he said in surprise. "This is the last stop."

"I'm sorry," she apologized, getting to her feet. "I thought you made one more trip."

"Only on weeknights," he explained. "On Saturday the last bus finishes an hour early."

The woman picked up her small bag which probably contained all her worldly possessions. She had an elegance and dignity about her although it looked as though she had nowhere to sleep for the night. John's heart when out to her—like it had done every time he had seen a stray dog or cat when he was a boy. His parents had scolded him for bringing in the strays, but had allowed him to rescue as many as he'd wanted. Until he had picked up a cat with Feline Upper Respiratory Infection which had infected all the other cats. He learned a hard lesson and no matter how pitiful a stray looked he had never taken another one home again.

The woman walked to a bench and sat on it, her bag held tightly in her lap.

John went in to the office, turned off the lights and closed up for the night.

Opening the doors of his Ford Mondeo remotely as he approached, he kept his head resolutely forwards.

Yet, he found himself looking through his rear-view mirror at the woman as he started the engine. He prayed that she would be okay.

Feeling terrible for leaving her, prey to anyone with evil intentions, he sped away quickly.

He turned left at the next corner, then left at the next and then left again. Another left and he was back where he had started. Instead of driving into the depot he parked his car outside and observed the woman. She was still sitting on the bench, her back straight, her head held high, proudly.

His wife, Helen, wasn't home; he really shouldn't take a woman to his house. Ordinarily Helen wouldn't mind, but she would be more than a little suspicious if he brought a woman to the house on a night when she wasn't home. Especially a redhead. Why couldn't the woman have been blonde or brunette? If the woman had been older and looked like a downtrodden tramp Helen might have been more understanding, but the woman was beautiful and though he had caught her hot, musky smell as she had passed him on her way off the bus, it was obvious that she had either found somewhere to wash as often as she could or hadn't been on the road for very long.

A burly man walked passed the entrance of the depot, looked in and continued on his way. Fifty metres on, he turned and retraced his steps. John tensed as the man turned into the depot and headed straight for the woman. He sat next to her on the bench, dwarfing her as he leaned close and engaged her in conversation. She kept shaking her head until suddenly he stood up and grasped her arm roughly, pulling her upright and against his much larger body.

John was out of the car and hurrying towards them in an instant.

"Hey!" he shouted as he neared them. "Leave her alone!"

"Who's going to make me?" The man looked dismissively over his shoulder at John's slim built and kept hold of the woman.

"I am," John informed him quietly, bringing the gun in his hand into view. It was only a toy which belonged to his five-year-old son Tim, but the man couldn't know that. "If you don't want a bullet between your eyes, let her go now!"

"Cool it, mate! She's all yours if you want her." The man backed away nervously and John watched him hurry away with contempt. For all his massive size, the man was both a coward and a bully.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Thank you. He offered to share his bed with me for the night and was a little put out that I refused," she explained.

"It's not safe here. Is there nowhere you can spend the night?"

"Please don't concern yourself. I'll be fine."

"I can't leave you here."

"I'm not your concern."

"Look, it's too deserted here. At least let me take you somewhere the shops are open all night or where they are other people."

She looked at him and then at the gun he still held in his hand. Hastily, he slipped it behind him and into his waistband, out of sight.

"I don't want to go to anywhere noisy. I'm desperately tired—I need somewhere quiet where I can get some sleep."

"If you sleep here you're likely to end up raped or murdered," he told her flatly, finally losing patience. All he wanted was a shower and his bed. But he would toss and turn all night if he left her here. And if anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.

"And how do I know that you're not a rapist or a murder?" she asked.

"You don't." He felt surprised that she could think him capable of harming her. But, he reasoned, most serial killers were persuasive smooth talkers.

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me," she apologized. "It's been an incredibly long day."

"Look, my wife's not home, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind you coming home with me for a bite to eat and a shower," John offered. He wouldn't get a wink of sleep if he had to think of her out here on her own, prey to thieves, rapists or murderers.

"Your wife must really trust you."

"She'll be fine once I've explained the situation to her."

"Thank you, I'd like to accept." She turned and headed towards his parked car. Hurrying forward, he held the door open for her. When he came around the car she leaned over and politely opened the door for him, too.

"Normally, I wouldn't dream of trusting a stranger, but...." she broke off.

"You are perfectly safe with me," he reassured her.

They drove in complete silence. The woman had immediately tipped her head back against the headrest and fallen asleep within a minute of him pulling away from the kerb. She hadn't lied about being exhausted.

He shook her gently when he had parked the car in the garage and switched off the engine. "We're here."

"Are you sure this will be okay?" Revived from her nap she seemed wary of him again.

"Look, do you want me to call my wife and check first?"

"No, don't do that," she begged him hastily. "It's late at night. I don't think she would appreciate being awoken from her sleep. I just don't want to get you into any trouble."

"My wife and I have been happily married for six years. I think she knows me well enough by now."

"Sorry to seem so ungrateful." Clutching her small bag she made to open the door, but he quickly reached around her and opened it.

Once again her hot, musky smell filled his nostrils. It was her perfume, he realized. It wasn't unpleasant, just stronger than his wife's subtle floral scent. But then his wife was a cool blonde, this woman was a fiery redhead—the kind that he'd secretly fantasized about when he had masturbated as a young man.

***

He imagined her in the shower washing that curtain of red hair that fell almost to her waist. He had given her one of his bathrobes to wear afterwards—giving her one of Helen's wouldn't have been right.

He was harder than he had been in ages. His face felt hot, flushed with desire.

God, he hoped she wouldn't notice the state he was in!

Getting up, he fiddled with the place settings. She had been obviously hungry but had insisted on having a bath first, saying that she wouldn't feel right sitting in one of the chairs in the same clothes she had been sitting around in all day.

"I feel human again. Thank you."

He turned and watched her as she walked into the room. She had piled her slightly damp hair carelessly on top of her head. It gave her a sultry look and made him notice the incredible length of her neck for the first time. His bathrobe swamped her and even though she had pulled the sash tightly, it gaped at the front showing a generous amount of cleavage, and he realized as he looked down, almost the entire length of her toned legs as she walked towards him. Her toenails were painted a surprising red and for an insane moment he wanted to beg her to let him rub her high-arched aristocratic feet over the bulge in his trousers.

Oh God, he thought in dismay as he got a full view of her breasts as he pulled out the chair and seated her before going to the other end of the square table. Her breasts were beautiful. Not the firm, slightly hard mounds of a young woman, but the soft, full curves of a mature woman who had perhaps given birth and breastfed a child or two. Her nipples were a deep pink and amazingly distended. If she hadn't breastfed a child or children, he thought, then there must have been a husband, boyfriend or girlfriend who had sucked on the tempting peaks constantly.

"I'm afraid it's only leftover roast chicken," he apologized. "I can't cook, but my wife baked a whole chicken yesterday and there was enough for dinner tonight. She's back tomorrow, thank God!"

"Chicken is just fine, thank you." She held out her plate as he forked several slices of moist chicken breast on to it and then held up her hand when it seemed as though he wanted to give her more than her share. "That's enough, thank you."

"Are you sure? I ate a late lunch and I'm not that hungry." He wanted to make sure that she had enough to eat. He could make do with whatever was left.

She smiled as if she knew that he was telling a white lie. "I'm quite sure."

They ate the meal in silence. He had never realized how cosy the little dining table was before. It was ideal for his family of four. When the twins had been a little younger it had been very convenient for him and his wife for feeding the kids and themselves at the same time.

She ate slowly, daintily. It was erotic to watch her.

He hadn't asked her name he realized suddenly and felt too embarrassed to do it now. His prim and proper mother would have scolded him soundly for not immediately making the lady's acquaintance.

"You can sleep in the spare room," he offered. She needed a good night's sleep.

"Thank you, but no. You kindly offered me food and a shower and I'm grateful for those. When I'm done here I will get dressed and you can take me to one of the shelters."

"I think you need a decent night's sleep. Don't worry, there is a lock on the door—you'll be perfectly safe."

She opened her mouth to protest, and then suddenly smiled.

"Perhaps, I will take you up on your kind offer. You've been driving all day. It would be a shame to make you go back into the cold. And I really could do with a soft bed and clean sheets tonight."

"It's the third door on the left," he told her as he got up and gathered the dishes. "No, no. You go on through. I'll put these into the dishwasher."

"Goodnight." She stood awkwardly twisting the sash of his robe.

"Goodnight," he responded, his heart beating a little faster as he reached for the platter which now contained the meagre remains of the roasted chicken.

She approached and quickly pecked him on the cheek before turning and hurrying from the room.

He put the platter down and rested his hands on the table as he took deep steadying breaths. He was fully and painfully aroused...and by one innocent kiss on the cheek!

***

John thought that he would have immediately fallen asleep; he'd had a long week and had eagerly looked forward to having a day off today. But Carl, one of his most reliable drivers, had called in sick and he'd had to step in and cover the bus route. His wasn't a large bus company, but the poorer members of the community relied on the service and he had vowed when he had bought the badly-run company from its drunken previous owner that reliability would be his watchword.

He was exhausted, yet he couldn't sleep.

He felt edgy with the woman in the house. He wondered if she was sleeping.

She was the embodiment of all his fantasies. He had berated close friends for cheating on their wives, thinking them weak and dishonourable. He had been so sure that he would never be tempted himself. He had a beautiful wife and two healthy, gorgeous children. He wasn't a devout Christian, but he went to church often enough to feel guilty of his attraction to the woman. She was a temptress and he was at his most vulnerable.

He hadn't really paid her much attention on the way home. She was just a woman in need of help, but it was as if her fairy godmother had waved a wand and transformed her after she'd had her shower. The image of her as he looked up from straightening the cutlery seemed burnt on his retinas. She had been alluring, innocently provocative, in his overlarge robe. And the totally unexpected red toenail polish. He had wanted—

John tensed as he heard footsteps outside his door. A minute later the knob turned and the door pushed open. She walked in still wearing his bathrobe and still bare footed.

"I can't sleep." She smiled apologetically. "Do you mind if I talk to you for a while?"

"Sure." Just as he made to get out of bed and join her in the living room, she came further into the room and sat on the bed.

"Are these your kids?" she asked, smiling as she picked up the framed photograph of the twins taken two months ago at a costume party. They had decided to go as Mickey and Minnie Mouse. He and Helen had laughed at the idea but the kids had been so keen, they hadn't the heart to tell them that the cartoon characters were a couple, not brother and sister. She picked up another picture, one of him alone and compared the two. "They're real cute. And they look so much like you."

"Actually they look more like their mother."

She stared intently across the bed at the photograph of Helen beside the reading lamp on his side of the bed and then back at the ones in her hand. Finally she conceded, "I think they have a little of both of you."

John could never see the resemblance himself. He thought they looked totally like Helen, but his mother always insisted that Tina especially looked like him when he was a boy.

"You seem to have a great marriage," the woman commented, replacing the photographs in almost exactly the same position she had found them.

"I have a wonderful marriage," he confirmed.

As the woman shifted on the bed, the robe parted again and revealed one of her deep pink nipples. John he felt blood immediately rush to his groin.

"But even wonderful marriages are sometimes not perfect. Isn't there something special that she doesn't do for you that I can? Does she go down on you?"

"Yes," John smiled, remembering his wife's lips around him only two days ago. It had been hair raising to say the least. The kids had been up and about, and the bedroom door closed but not locked.

"What about anal sex. She doesn't look the type to indulge in that type of activity."

John hissed as several drops of precum oozed of out of his straining penis. It was the one topic that had the potential to totally unman him. He respected his wife's reservation about anal sex. Their sex life was great without it, but...

"I haven't done it that often myself and only with my husband," she confessed.

"You're married?" he queried. He hadn't even considered the possibility.

"Yes, but it's a long story that I don't want to get into right now. Let me do this for you. One night where you forget the rules and take the pleasure being offered you."

"You don't have to sleep with me just because I offered you some food and somewhere to sleep for the night."

"I know I don't. I just want to give you pleasure. You're a wonderfully generous man in a world where people look the other way rather than offer help. That man could have raped me and dumped my body somewhere tonight if you hadn't rescued me. I want to show my appreciation."

She stood up and shrugged out of the robe and he was lost. Her erect nipples seemed to be begging for the touch of his lips, her trim waist small enough for him to almost span with his large hands. When she turned slowly around, it was no longer a question of if he would take her up on her offer, but how many times he would need to bury himself in her sweet perfect behind until he was completely sated.

"Come to me," he commanded softly, switching off the bedside lamp as he reached for her. What was done in darkness didn't have to come to light.

He pulled her down on top of him and caressed the taut cheeks of her behind as he kissed her. He ran his finger gently between the mounds and found the tightly-closed pucker of her anus and rimmed her lightly with his finger. She might have had anal sex before, but not in recent months—her rectum was as petite as the rest of her. Though he was a tall man, his seven-inch penis was only an average endowment, but it was thick.

Slipping his hand downwards he ran his fingers over her vaginal lips. The moisture spilling out of her was too much to resist. Reaching his left hand between them, he sunk two fingers deep inside her vagina as he breached her tight anus with the tip of his long, moistened right middle finger. She gasped and bit down gently on his upper chest as he slowly buried the finger to the hilt.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.

"Oh yes. I want it as much as you do."

"Tell me if it hurts too much." He circled her anus with a second finger and then worked it inside her with short, firm thrusts as he slipped a third finger into her eager-and-ready-to-accommodate vagina. He was almost torn between its slippery warmth and the tight resistance of her rectum. Almost, but he was now too consumed by the delicious delight of sinking himself into the velvet darkness of her anus; her vagina would not satisfy the craving that had been building inside him from the moment she had first made the offer of her sweet behind. But he was easily more than twice the size of the two fingers he had only just begun to work smoothly in and out of her. It would take an eternity.

"I'm going to embarrass myself in a minute if I don't..." Slipping his fingers out of her, he opened the fly of his pyjamas and slid into her clutching warmth. She gasped as he held her hips in place and buried himself deeply.

She really was the tightest little thing, he thought, as he brought his hands up to cup her breasts and caress her nipples. The hard points grazed his palms and he immediately pulled her upwards to suck on one of the tempting morsels. In the darkness and in his haste to prepare her for rear entry, he had forgotten the dusky pink points that had almost driven him out of his mind earlier.

Noticing that her inner muscles clenched in time with the pull of his lips on her nipple, he pulled harder. Immediately she grasped his head, riding him furiously, pressing down and taking every inch of him when only minutes before she had locked her knees against his hips to prevent him going too deeply after his first full thrust. Gritting his teeth he held back his orgasm as her inner muscles squeezed and tried to milk him.

In the meanwhile, as he had distracted her with his raw, insistent nipple sucking he had deftly worked another finger into her anus. As he felt her start to orgasm, he lifted her upwards and housed himself quickly, deeply inside her anus. He felt the shock go through her as the intense pain mixed with the pleasure of the orgasm she had been too far gone to stop. She bucked against him, rubbing her clitoris furiously against his pelvis as her now-empty vagina clenched around nothing but air, and in turn pressed her rectum further onto him. He couldn't hold back any longer, her small tight back passage nipped in the most delicious way.

He shouted aloud as he came harder than he'd ever remembered coming.

He woke from a light doze ten minutes later, still joined to her. He knew that she was tired and needed sleep, but his penis disobeyed his command to lie quietly inside her and let her rest for a little longer.

She woke as he surged to full arousal inside her.