The sound of the bus accelerating toward her from the stoplight a block and a half away caught her attention. Looking up, Lynn realized it was her bus. Reluctantly she picked up her purse from the bench and slipped her phone into its pouch as she prepared for boarding the now slowing behemoth.
She grabbed the hand rail as she stepped aboard the bus, her eyes roaming the now nearly deserted street one last time, hopefully looking for something, anything, to renew her flagging hope, but saw nothing. Two steps higher, she turned disappointedly into the nearly deserted bus. An elderly woman with a cart and bags sat in the second seat back on the right; she'd seen her before on this same trip, the last express bus of the evening.
One other passenger was all there was. A businessman, sitting in the very back row, hidden behind his newspaper; she recalled seeing him before also. Her shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. What, she wondered, went wrong?
Even in the nearly deserted bus she still picked her spot half way back. Even a row or two behind the elderly woman wouldn't have been considered infringing on "her" space, but she just didn't want to be near anyone. Her mind went over the e-mails again, searching for what could have gone wrong. And despite that something obviously must have gone wrong, the thought of what could have been increased the tingling between her legs.
Not that the sexual tingle in her groin could have increased much more. She'd been on pins and needles all day long, in fact, since the previous evening. She'd gotten ready for bed, taken her shower, brushed her teeth. While her husband had gotten his shower she'd put her robe on so she could check on the kids. Ostensibly the robe was so she could walk around the house naked as she hadn't slept in anything except her skin in years, except that is when she intended to seduce her husband and she really didn"t sleep in those clothes. The truth was that she wasn't really going to check on the girls, although she did. The real purpose was when she'd stopped one last time to check her e-mail. She lied to herself that she was really checking to see if anyone had written, but if she'd been honest she'd have admitted that she was really checking to see if he had written.
He had written of course.
The note hadn't even been that long, but it was the audacity of it. She was a married woman; a woman married 24 years now to the same man. Yes, she'd flirted shamelessly with him. Yes, she'd admitted things to him that she'd never even told her husband. Yes she'd shared some naughty pictures with him, and he with her, but he was just a nameless, faceless word on a page; a safe, harmless mental affair; a little harmless spice in an otherwise routine existence. Perhaps if she'd been pressed she'd have admitted her normally boring existence, but that was the truth of it -- her existence was every bit normal, every bit routine. All normal and routine except for her mental affair, and he was someone she need not worry about as she'd never met him, could never meet him, as he lived three thousand miles away in a different country.
And yet, over time, she'd exposed more and more of her fantasy world to this stranger, and he'd shared his with her. His lovers, her lovers, his fetishes, her fetishes. Together they'd found that despite their differences, they had so many similarities. He admitted to her that he found her arousing; she admitted that she'd fantasized about him on those lonely Saturday mornings when her husband went golfing and left her alone in bed with her iPhone and its erotic stories at her fingertips, her fingers which would dial the control buttons, her pleasure button, and her favorite toys.
She'd written him several times, describing the erotic bliss his stories and e-mails had helped her achieve, ever in more intimate detail. She'd teased him with descriptions of her body, with descriptions of her favorite lingerie, with descriptions of what tantalizing touch would drive her over the edge in nothing flat. He'd teased in return, his words like fingers on her body, driving her libido making her feel as sexy as she had when she'd first been married. She'd imagine it was his finger or tongue replacing her own as she caressed her sex, teasing her body into another long, intense, shuddering, clenching, spasming orgasm.
That was the first line. One line, all by itself, she hadn't needed to read any further. She didn't need to wonder about what it could mean -- she knew. He'd teased at first, as if reading her mind, knowing that she really didn't want a real affair, yet over time, "would you" had changed into "someday...." A tacit acknowledgement that if he were to ever actually visit her Toronto that she would at least meet him, have lunch, shake his hand and send him on his way. That is, if he didn't take her to a hotel and do all the nasty sexy fun things she'd admitted to him she'd love to do. She'd told him no, she wouldn't, she was a married woman... but she didn't think he'd believed her any more than she'd believed herself.
Just that one word.
At least, that's what she'd thought until she looked at the screen again. He'd put about twenty open lines in before he'd written anything else; she was so busy contemplating the import of that single word she almost missed the continuation at the bottom of the page. "Tomorrow, before the day is done, I will taste your pussy, we will orgasm at the same time, and you'll say that you've just had the most fantastic orgasm of your life."
Her nipples had instantly crinkled, even before she moved she felt the instant warmth and wetness between her legs. God, how did he do that so easily, with such regularity?
If that hadn't been enough, there were instructions. She was to wear the new silky bra, the blue one with the black lace that formed to her titties and made them look good! At least she thought so. He wanted her to wear the low cut dress, the one she said she'd never worn to work as it was just a little too slutty for the business world; it showed just a little too much cleavage for the office, and she definitely had lots of cleavage. She'd learned as a girl that C cup titties nicely filled out a swimsuit, and it was easy to overflow one with D cups, especially if you wore one just a skosh too small. Not that she had to worry about showing a little too much boob, if she decided to actually meet him, there was no way she was going to wear that sexy little nothing...
"Wear the silky black panties, the tight ones that hug your bottom and crotch and sometimes slide against your clit when you get wet, because I intend for you to be wet in anticipation all day." She'd read it three times before putting it away, telling herself there was no way she was going to do as he asked -- no, as he'd instructed.
She'd even thought of getting dressed in something else that morning. Well, at least the dress. After all, when she'd put on the silky underwear, it wasn't anything that she hadn't worn before. When she'd reached in and pulled out her white bra, fumbled with it and put it back to pull out her black one and then fumbled with that one and finally pulled out the blue one he'd requested, she'd lied to herself that it was just another bra and it didn't make any difference.
She pulled the cups together to hook the front clasp when she'd looked into the mirror, seeing her normally flush nipples were erect, jutting towards the mirror, begging for attention. She'd stopped, allowing her hands to release the bra cups and instead slide up under her breasts, lifting them, her thumbs caressing her nipples, her eyes closing. The rush of warmth between her thighs intensified the existing warmth that she'd been ignoring. "Oh my god," she'd thought, "I can't do this," even as her body was telling her she desperately wanted to. Her daughter's call of "Mom!" approaching in the hallway broke her from her reverie; she pulled the bra cups in place but her nipples were still visible, protruding from the satiny material despite the lining. Her eyes examined her body, widening in horror as she realized there was a wet line in the center of her panties, a wet line centered between the twin mounds of her swollen labia. Hurriedly she'd stepped into her closet, reached out and pulled on the dress, the one she'd been thinking about all night, the one she'd said she'd not wear to work.
She wasn't going to, but at the last minute, interrupted by her daughter, it was the only thing she had been thinking about. Without having time to think about what she would wear instead, she'd just grabbed it and pulled it over her head. She hadn't wanted her daughter to see her erect nipples; particularly she hadn't wanted her to see the wet spot in her panties marking her aroused state. She had just gotten it over her head, smoothing it in place, when her daughter appeared at the closet door. "Mom, do you think that ... Wow! You look hot Mom." She felt her panties go from damp to soaked.
She pulled her iPhone out of its pouch. Seeing that she had a new e-mail, she keyed in the password, wondering as she did what he would say. She didn't even think it would be anyone except him, his e-mails had shown up regularly every day for weeks just as she'd gotten on the bus. She'd told him what her schedule was, when she got on the bus every day, when she got to work, when her husband went to bed and she was alone for a few hours, their correspondence had become timed to match.
"You look as gorgeous as I thought you would." What? He'd seen her? Another e-mail popped up even as she was reading the first one.
"Well? We're you wet all day?"
God yes she'd been wet all day. Shit, even her daughter commenting that she'd looked great had gotten her wet, saying she should dress like that more often. But what did a teenage daughter know about dressing for the business world? But that was just the start; everyone she'd met all day long had just teased her that much more. Getting on the bus that morning, she'd realized as she climbed the steps and looked up to find the bus drivers eyes not on her face as normal but on her breasts, on the expanse of rounded flesh exposed in the vee of her dress.
Her boss, who was old enough to be her father even though she was already in her forties, had done a double take when she'd walked by. Later he'd stopped by her desk -- he never stopped by her desk -- and told her she "looked really nice today." It was all she could do to not raise her hand to cover her cleavage, understanding exactly what he'd meant, and despite the age difference, she had to admit she'd felt that rush of warmth from her pussy, the hundredth time before lunch. The secretary, all of her male co-workers; all day long it had been continuous realization that people were looking at her, acknowledging that she was sexy and desirable.
She'd expected him at lunch. It was where it had to happen; where there was the most time. She had it all planned out, how she was going to tell him no, that although their flirting had been fun, she couldn't take it to the next level. No, she wouldn't accompany him to his hotel room. When he passed her a key and said his room number she was just going to push it back.
Even the thought of being that close she knew was a risk, but at least one time she really wanted to meet him, find out if he was as sexy as their e-mails back and forth had been.
She wanted to slap him, to ask where he was, where he had been, but instead she sent back the one word truthful answer: "Yes."
The next e-mail was instantaneous, he must have been writing it as she'd been reading and answering the last one, "Promise me something?"
"Don't turn around."
"Why not," she typed, before she realized what the message meant. Before she pushed 'send' a voice in her ear whispered "Because you've never met me. I know how you feel; for now it's best if you can 'truthfully' say you've never met me."
Oh my God, he's right there! she thought, starting to turn her head to look.
"Shhh!" He whispered in her ear. She felt his head slip up next to her right ear from behind, over the bus seat. "It's really me." His hands touched her shoulders, his fingers sliding over them, squeezing and massaging her shoulders. She melted under his touch, the gush of liquid between her legs the strongest yet that day. She knew her resistance was gone, she knew that when he said "let's get off at the next stop" that she was going to, she'd go to his hotel, she'd have sex with him. She'd do all those naughty things together that they'd been talking about for the last few months.
"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to. You know that don't you?" She felt his breath on her ear; her head turned slightly, his face coming in contact with hers. Smooth, he'd shaved recently.
She nodded. "How did you find me?"
"It wasn't hard; bus schedules, where you worked, a little internet and what you told me about your habits." She realized she could smell a hint of cologne, his cologne.
"You smell good."
"You look good," he responded. "Your breasts are gorgeous." She felt her nipples crinkle, realizing he was looking over her shoulder, looking down her cleavage. "I knew I'd really like the blue one," he said, referring to her bra.
"You've been stalking me?" she questioned, not at all upset by the fact that he'd had to find her somehow.
"I've been researching you. I've been here since Monday."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because," she felt his left hand slide over her shoulder, tracing her bra strap through her dress. She expected him to stop, but he didn't. His left hand slid down the vee of her cleavage, crossing over and insinuating itself between her flesh and her bra, his fingers dragging across her right nipple until her breast was cupped in his hand, "you and I both know we wanted more than that and if I'd called, you would have turned me down.
She looked up, the little old lady at the front of the bus wasn't paying attention, the bus driver was busy watching traffic. Her hand rose to cover his hand and her breast anyway. She knew he was right. "Steve, I can't... We can't..." His hand moved slightly, his palm caressing her nipple.
"Shhh. It's OK. You aren't going to do anything you don't want to."
"I can't have sex with you." There, she'd said the words. She knew the words were a lie, but she'd tried. Her conscious tried to say no; deep down she knew she'd already lost the battle. She'd lost it weeks ago, when they'd hooked up online, but she hadn't really believed they'd ever be together. Until now it had been a harmless infatuation.
"Who said anything about us having sex?" he asked, his hand pulling out from beneath hers until her nipple was between his thumb and finger. She moaned as he rolled the eraser sized nub between them.
Her mind wasn't quite functioning right, all she knew was that she was in heat; as bad as she'd ever had it. A full day of being aroused; his tantalizing, teasing e-mails arriving at odd times, each one hinting as to what was going to happen. She wanted him, she wanted sex. She wanted that magnificent circumcised cock that he'd sent her the pictures of in her mouth and in her ass and especially in her pussy. She didn't know what she'd tell her husband, she'd come up with something. Her mind had drifted so much she almost didn't understand when he told her to take off her panties. Her mind was catching up, thinking "did he really just tell me to take my panties off?" when he repeated himself.
"Slip your panties off and give them to me." Her breath caught.
"Right here? On the bus?" she didn't think he meant it.
"Just slide forward 'till your butts on the edge and slip them off." She hesitated slightly, but did as he instructed. Hitching her dress up until she could reach them, she slid them down, her bottom realizing there was one less piece of cloth between her flesh and the plastic of the seat. She crushed the material in her hand, realizing it was nearly as soaked as if she'd climbed out of a swimming pool. Between her legs she felt the cool air teasing her overheated pussy.
He pulled his hand out of her dress, reaching towards hers. "Give them to me," he instructed. Her hand moved to his, seemingly of its own volition.
""I want to smell you. I want to feel your arousal; I want to know that your panties are wet." He took the panties from her, she let him. Hiding them in his hand, he lifted them, slowly crossing under her nose. "I can smell your pussy already. Can you?"
She inhaled, the smell of her own arousal filling the air around her. "Yes." She nodded at the same time. Steve pulled his hand up to her ear and his nose; she heard a long drawn out inhalation.
"Mmm. God Lynn, you're so sexy. You know that don't you? That you're so sexy?" His breath was in her ear; suddenly she felt his tongue on her earlobe. "Oh my God, I want to taste you, I want to see you. Show me your pussy."
"Steve!" she whispered, shocked that he would ask here on a public bus, where anyone could be getting on or off at any time. Glancing up she realized they'd already passed the last stop; they were now on the freeway for the next few minutes.
"Nobody's going to see. " He whispered back. "Just lift your dress. Show me that naked kitty that you've been teasing me with forever." Slowly she inched the dress upward, exposing more and more of herself until it pinched under her bottom. Raising her butt off the seat, she raised the dress so she wasn't sitting on it, momentarily exposing herself, her bare bottom finding the plastic. Her dress fell back into her lap. Steve's hand slid again into her top as she sat back down, his fingers stopping on her nipple. She gasped.
"Mmmm. I knew you'd be ready to cum. You are, aren't you?'
"Oh my god, you've got no idea. I've been ready ever since I got your e-mail last night." She'd raised the dress to the point where her crotch was just barely covered. If she had any pubic hair, it probably would have been visible, but she was clean shaven, all except the small landing strip above her clit.
"Don't tease me baby, show me that pretty pussy." She inched the dress higher, exposing herself to his gaze over her shoulder. "Oh yes, that's it," he purred in her ear. She felt him scoot forward more in his seat, his second arm coming over the seat, crossing her chest and sliding in to caress her other breast. "Now your clit. Take your hand and spread your lips. Let me see that clit I want to suck so badly. You'd like that wouldn't you? If I was down between your legs sucking and licking that little nubbin?"
As if someone else were controlling her body, she watched her fingers reach between her legs, fondling her swollen lips, gradually parting them, pulling them back until her clit became visible. "Oh yes, that's it. So gorgeous. Is it sensitive right now? It is, isn't it? Touch it, rub it, and then let me suck your finger." She did as he directed, touching her clit with her middle finger, rubbing it back and forth before raising her hand beside her ear where he sucked her finger into his mouth.
"Again," he said as her finger slipped from his mouth. She reached back down, her now wet finger slithering around the little nub that gave her such pleasure. "Not too fast, put it in your pussy and let me taste you before I let you cum." Doing as he said, she slid her finger down between her lips, feeling her wetness coating her finger. Withdrawing it, she held it over her shoulder where he sucked it again.
"Oh baby, you're so hot. We're almost out of time, so I want you to make yourself cum now. Masturbate yourself like you've told me. Make yourself cum for me while I play with your titties. Can you do that for me, huh?"