Grabbing the Wheel Pt. 01

This story is a complete work of fiction with every sex partner above the age of eighteen years old.

WHERE do I begin? I am a tall dark handsome, brunette, with dark green eyes and pouty lips. People have compared me to a young Kate Beckinsale. Don't worry if the name doesn't ring a bell. I had to Google her image myself. They are right. She's gorgeous. But isn't every actor beautiful?

There are mornings when I look in the mirror, comb my long dark hair and wonder, should I have taken a different career path? I definitely have the look...but when I lost my teaching job due to school closures, Covid and cutbacks, I searched—forever. Then I dove recklessly into modeling agency interviews. Every evaluator must have sensed the desperation in my voice. I saw their 'casting couch' in the corner. I wasn't going there! No matter how desperate I'd become.

So today, I sat behind the wheel of a bus. What is it they say? When life gives you lemons. Make lemonade. Serve mine up chilled with plenty of ice. Perhaps some vodka too. Mmmm.

Cecil, my boss, runs a transportation company. I still remember his face lighting up when I walked in the door for my interview. I was dressed modestly in a dark skirt and blazer. Perhaps too professional, but it was an administrative job for which I had applied. Cecil's friendly, but somewhat mischievous smile struck me as odd at first. I quickly scanned the room. Whew—relief, not a couch or bed in sight.

"Thank you for coming in," he glanced at his notes, "Genevieve."

Cecil's dark eyes, salt and pepper hair and businesslike approach was welcoming—his office, neat and organized. He gestured to a leather chair in front of his wide oak desk. I took a seat and managed to take a deep breath, trying to relax the knot in my stomach. I crossed my long legs. He glanced at them, briefly. This was not going to be a Sharon Stone interview if I could help it. Fortunately, I'd worn dark panties.

No peeking!

He looked up, and smiled. I smiled back. Score was one-nothing—for me. A shorter skirt would have revealed my sexy garters and stockings, but he didn't need to know that.

"Before we get started I have some unfortunate news," he grimaced. "The position was filled this morning."

To be blunt, I was pissed, but kept my composure. "It would have been nice to have called me and let me know," I responded, trying not to let my disdain ruin the interview. One—One.

"But then we might never have met?" Cecil grinned. "I was intrigued by your resume and felt I had to meet you. I'd like to offer you another position if you're interested?" He hesitated. "Should the woman I hired as administrator not work out, then you'll be on payroll and able to switch lanes, pardon the pun."

Oh great—transportation humor. I should signal to exit.

I was still peeved but a tiny bit of his charm was starting to rub off on me. Perhaps this wasn't a complete waste of my time. There was something intriguing about this man. Definitely too old for me by at least a decade. My curiosity was piqued. I took the bait. "What is the position and the rate of pay?"

"You'd be a bus driver. You'd start at minimum wage."

"What is the rate for an administrator?"

"Considerably more."

"Seeing as I am your 'plan B,' I can accept the position at the higher 'administrator' rate." That felt like a fair proposal.

Cecil smiled and leaned back. His luxurious office chair squeaked. Time ticked away. I stared at him, unblinking. I let the silence linger. Then spread my legs teasingly and crossed them again. He looked. Ah-ha! He liked me. Cecil pulled out a calculator and tapped the keys. I was certain he wanted to hire me, but the strict financier in him must have given him pause.

"I can afford to pay you for the upgrade in your licensing and training, and offer you a few dollars more than the minimum. Perhaps I might throw in some benefits not offered to other drivers."

"What sort of benefits?"

He beamed, as if he'd already won. "The usual health, dental and perhaps a few extras if you meet my expectations."

"Yes. I accept the position," curious to discover what extras were included. Our match ended in a tie, a win-win. I wondered how our next contest would end.

A few weeks went by as I settled into my bus routine you know—pick em up— drop em off at school, pick em up from school—drop em off. Rinse and repeat. The kids were great. Within a week I knew all their names. Occasionally, extra bonus work was available when schools had road trips and excursions. There was a run available for a senior basketball team from a local high school so I grabbed it. I had no idea how much of a 'bonus' I was in for when I accepted it.

***

His name was Grant. He was a gym teacher. There was a time, years ago, when I was crazy hot for him. His dark hair and chiseled body was more than I could take when I first interned as a teacher. I would sneak off to the gym just to watch him. I knew there was a mutual interest because he'd often wink at me and smile. Wow. What a smile. I'd get so worked up, I'd have to run off to the ladies' room, lock the door and jam my hand into my sopping wet pussy and stroke my clit. It never took long to reach orgasm. All I had to do was envision that strong chin of his forcing his way between my slender legs, his strong arms grasping my knees. Then his powerful tongue would reach my dripping undies and lick my swollen labia through the thin translucent fabric. I'd tear away my panties and grip his locks of hair and pull him deep into my folds forcing him to suck my turgid button. I always came hard in stifled grunts, my fist jammed between my teeth to suppress my moans. I never got to finish my fantasy—

him fucking me with wild abandon.

—because there was never enough time. The school bell would ring and I'd have to scoot back to the classroom somewhat red-faced and disheveled. Those prepubescent pupils with penis' were too young to sense the pheromones imparted from my pulsating pussy. I'm not sure why I never pursued him in real life. I was the 'newbie teacher' and he was, I don't know? Unattainable in my mind?

The memo said—Eastdale Collegiate—10 a.m.

Pulling up at the south entrance I could see a lineup of teens in tracksuits carrying duffle bags. I slid open the bus door. And there he was—handsome as hell. At first, Grant didn't recognize me—well, it had been five years. With a clipboard in hand, he directed the athletes onto my bus.

Once the last student entered he stepped on and passed me without looking. He offered a polite, "Hello." I was surprised and hurt.

"Hello Grant," I said. His head spun—he was startled. His eyes squinted trying to place my face.

"Gen?"

I stared at him, hoping the magic was still there. He still looked the same.

Why do men never seem to get old?

Wow. He remembered. My heart fluttered briefly. "Yes. It's Genevieve Lefebvre, an old associate and admirer."

"Definitely not old, but unquestionably a member of the mutual admiration club. How long has it been?" he pondered, "Years...I think."

I'd forgotten how soothing and gentle his voice was. It was like a spell.

"Well, as you can see I'm no longer teaching."

"I figured that, so how's life been..."

"...hey coach," a voice rang out from the back of the bus. "Tip-off is in thirty minutes. Any chance we can get a move on?"

Grant's face turned crimson—I could feel his disappointment. He tapped his clipboard. "He's right. We've got to hurry. Perhaps we can catch up after the game?"

His words were magic to my ears. I nodded and in a voice of fake authority said, "Take a seat coach," then giggled. I checked my mirrors, put her in gear and pulled away.

It was a short drive to Anderson High School. I dropped Grant's team off and decided to hang around. It'd been years since I left teaching and this was a brand-new high school. I wanted to check things out. I went to the office and got a visitor's pass. There was a huge library and an even larger cafeteria. I wandered down the hallway to the sounds of cheers and bouncing balls. It was 'the game.' The gym was packed. I snuck in and found a spot on the bleachers.

Grant was on the far side of the court, shouting out directions, clapping his hands and motivating his boys. I started getting into the act, reminiscent of my cheerleading days—then that feeling overtook me once again. My nipples began to harden, rubbing against the material of my shirt. Wow, sudden regret for not wearing my bra. The tingling slowly migrated to the moist sensitive button between my legs.

Focus—you shameless slut—think of something else.

Every basket by the visiting team was underappreciated. They needed my help.

That's better—focus on the game.

So, I stood and cheered with each basket, my pups jiggling freely under my blouse, nipples poking out like erasers. Thank God Grant could not see. Or did he? I glanced over during a time-out and there was his smile and a big thumbs up. The tingling and fullness started getting stronger. I squeezed my thighs together knowing it was hopeless. My Hitachi was going to get another workout when I got home but I desperately needed the real thing, and it was standing right over there, courtside. It's not like I haven't had sex in...I don't know? Two weeks? Maybe three? And when I say sex, I mean a hard thrusting male between my legs. A sweating, sucking, seductive sex-toy of a man.

Oh god! Why am I doing this to myself?

Maybe it's the smell or the energy of the gymnasium? The visual of glistening skin? Hearing their grunts—muscles bulging—their sweat glistening bodies colliding. It was all too much. I had to find somewhere to escape. The buzzer went—thank God! Half time. A handful of fans scattered to the exits. I was one of them.

I ran down the hall looking for somewhere I could find relief. There it was! Thank God for handicap washrooms with locking doors. I yanked the door open, threw myself inside and turned the deadbolt. The tiled washroom wall felt cool on my back as I hastily unbuttoned my blouse. My aching breasts responded to the tugging, and turning of each nipple with my fingers and then—a knock.

Oh, my fucking Christ!

"Not now. OCCUPIED!" I yelled.

"Gen— it's me, Grant... are you OK?"

That voice. That heavenly voice. How on earth could he know? I unlocked the door, grabbed his arm, and hauled him in.

"I saw you run away," he mumbled in confusion. "You look flustered, is everything OK?"

"Nope." I turned and straight-armed him against the wall. He saw my exposed breasts jiggle through my opened blouse. I grabbed his hands and pulled them to my tits. I grabbed his ass and pressed my slit against the awakening bulge in his sweatpants. I murmured in his ear "What are the chances of us meeting again. I feel like a teenager."

"Should I lock the door?" he stammered.

"Yup." I uttered, grinding my pussy against his hardness. He reached out and turned the bolt. His smell was intoxicating—a musky manly smell. I hoped he tasted the same. Reaching down, I slipped my hand under his waistband, and seized the prize that for years had eluded me. He was healthy and hard, as I had imagined. Leaning in I whispered, "I've been waiting for this. Do you—like it? —want it? —need it as bad as I do?" I looked at him, squeezing his cock in my vise-grip hand. His face turned upwards, his breathing labored, his eyes closed—there was that square chin I had fantasized about.

"Don't stop," he muttered.

No way, no how.

That old Starship song from the eighties came to mind. There was 'Nothing going to stop me now.'

I dropped to my knees and engulfed his cock all the way to the hilt. He groaned. My tongue stroked up the underside of his shaft. I twirled and sucked hard when I reached the tip. It was intoxicating. He tasted like he smelled. Time was of the essence as I gripped the base of his manhood pumping his dick with all my might. His cock tightened then spurted his sweetness deep in my mouth. I swallowed greedily. That was quick. Grant must have wanted it more than I did. Stroking his shaft with a firm grip ensured I got every last drop. It was my turn. I knew we didn't have much time. At long last, I would feel his tongue caress my womanhood and his thick purple-helmeted-love-warrior would finally penetrate me.

Then came a knock. "Coach? You in there?" said a voice.

No fucking way! This can't be happening.

"Someone said they saw you come in here."

Ironic. Considering he had just cum in here.

Grant hesitated.

The voice asserted, "If you're in there, we need you. The second half is about to start."

"Yup. I'll be right out," he grunted in dismay, his cock sinking faster than my hopes and dreams.

Grant reached for the door. I blocked him and stared him straight in the eye, "Just know—this is a to-be-continued session. You owe me—big-time!"

Here we were, face to face. Time seemed to stop momentarily. It was eerie.

Then he kissed me. Wow. It wasn't lust. Or perhaps it was? I was hornier than a mule deer in the rut. We French-kissed deeply. I swirled my tongue around his, returning to him whatever was still in my mouth.

"You're amazing," he said, and quickly exited.

I locked the door behind him, removed my jeans—my soaked panties stuck to the crotch of the denim. I dropped myself onto the floor, took three fingers and jammed them into my sodden hole furiously finger-fucking myself. Wave after wave of pleasure—pleasures built for years—washed over me. My juices sprayed everywhere. I sat there exhausted and drained. I could envision the janitor's face trying to figure out what caused this mess. Poor guy.