The Bus Station

She stood and looked at herself in the hallway mirror. Dark hair pulled back, eyes wide and nervous looking. Her thick winger coat buttoned up so high the hollow of her throat was hidden.

So was the play collar wrapped around that throat.

Time to go.

Taking her courage in both hands, she pulled the door open and stepped out into the night. Her high heels rang out against the pavement as she walked.

Eight o'clock, he said. It was ten to now, and the bus station was fifteen minutes away.

She was going to be late, not a good start.

But it had taken longer than she thought just to slide her coat over her shoulders, still the trembling in her hands enough to do up the buttons.

It wasn't a cold night, but she felt the thin breeze wrap around her naked legs, sneak its way into the small gaps in her coat. She shivered, wrapping her arms across her chest. A group of boys erupted from an off-licence just as she was passing, their boisterous laughter cutting though her anxious thoughts, and she shied violently, almost turning her heel. She wasn't used to these shoes. They were too high, the point needle thin. She never wore them normally, but instructions were instructions.

It was with both relief and a growing sense of dread that she saw the lurid lights of the bus station. silhouettes milled about beneath the floodlights, but for the most part it was quiet.

On a Wednesday night, most people had long since travelled home from work, and the few revellers who might venture out mid-week were still warm and cosy in bars and restaurants, enjoying whatever company they'd found.

Stand number 15 was right in the heart of the bus station. The electronic sign above it announced that the 8.20 to Motherwell was on time, but there was only one passenger waiting to travel.

Waiting for her.

He was sat on the narrow bench, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. His hands were tucked into the front pocket of the hoodie that he wore. His face was in shadow, those powerful eyes hidden as he contemplated his feet.

He didn't look up, not even when she halted in front of him.

"What time is it?" he asked.

She hesitated, then tugged her sleeve back enough to check her watch.

"Eight oh seven," she replied.

"And what time were you to be here?"

"Eight." It took a moment to force that word out, but she managed.

He made her wait a moment long, then lifted his gaze. They were grey, those eyes. Unremarkable beneath almost gentle eyebrows.

But the look in them, there was nothing gentle about that.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered, but he cut off any further excuses with a tiny shake of his head.

"Come here."

She already was there, but she took a step forward anyway, moving into the space he created as he uncrossed his legs and widened his stance.

His hands drew hers away from her body and then went to the belt she'd tied tightly at her waist. Nimble fingers unpicked the knot she'd created, stripping away the barrier.

Next he went to the buttons of her coat, slipping them free one at a time.

Agonisingly slowly.

The jacket was fairly loose on her, so it didn't peel apart straight away, only glimpses of bare skin peeking through as he worked his way down. Still, she glanced guiltily around the almost deserted bus station as if she was naked.

She felt naked.

The last button slid free. Rather than pulling it back, he ran his hands up and down the edges, his thumbs just brushing her skin beneath.

"I hope you followed instructions," he murmured, those eyes fixed on her face. She couldn't return his gaze. Her throat choked, she jerked her head in a nod.

"To the letter."

And they had come in a letter. Though the post, marked with a stamp and addressed to her in beautiful flowing script. Her flatmate had been so nosy about who might be writing to her she'd almost opened the fucking thing. When she'd retreated to the safety of her room and broken the seal, drawing the thin sheaf of paper out, she'd felt both a pool of dread in her belly and a delicious clench ever lower still.

High heels, play collar, winter coat. Nothing else. In truth, her coat was a little warm for November, but with no shirt or blouse or underwear beneath it, she'd felt chilled.

She didn't feel chilled now. Her face burned as he slowly drew the sides of her coat apart and exposed her nakedness underneath.

"Good girl," he murmured.

Good girl. The things she did for those two simple words.

Hands went to her breasts, massaging them lightly. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to focus on the sensation and now the fact they were in a bus station where a bus was due to arrive in ten minute. It was private for now, just the two of them cocooned in the faux privacy of the perspex enclosure, but that could change at any moment.

She'd die if any other travellers joined them, because she knew from experience that company wouldn't stop him.

At the same time... she flicked her eyes open, darted them about, flitting from stranger to stranger, almost daring them to change their plans and come join them.

A sharp sting on both her nipples made her gasp, drew her attention back to him. She looked down at the same time as the tinkle of a steel chain unfurling dimly registered.

She had just enough time to think No, before the clamps were in his hands, fingers pinching at the mechanism, pincers reaching for her. he fastened them with precise, methodical movements, forehead frowning slightly as he concentrated on his task. When they were both attached, the sharp pinch quickly dimming to a throbbing ache, he smiled, playing with the chain no dangling loosely between her breasts.

"Gorgeous," he murmured.

He lifted that smile up to her face and then patted the bench beside him.

"Sit."

So they sat, side by side in the bus shelter, just two people waiting for their lift home. Nothing out of the ordinary, except that she was nearly naked and almost fully exposed, her breasts easily visible beneath her jacket, the chain winking cheekily beneath the harsh yellow lights.

An old couple came along, mumbling hellos before the woman took a seat just on the other side of Sir. They chatted about a film they'd both watched at the cinema. Idle chit chat punctuated with the occasional soft laugh, completely oblivious to how much her heart was threatening to burst out of her chest.

Darting a glance at Sir, she dared to cross her legs, shielding her most private space from view. He looked down at her and she held her breath, waiting, but he didn't comment. He placed a hand on her exposed length of thing, palm warm on her chilled skin.

It was a comforting gesture, but also a warning. This, but no more. She wasn't stupid. Though she was desperate to button her coat back up - a desperation that grew even stronger when a young man, maybe early twenties, joined the small group, standing just three feet in front of her, his headphones in his ears and his gaze on his phone - she kept her fingers curled around the thin firmness of the bench.

If she was foolish enough to try and cover herself, she would find herself sitting without her jacket.

She glanced over at him and saw he was smiling slightly, knew he was thinking the same thing.

When the bus arrived, it took every ounce of control she possessed not to wrap her coat around her anyway.

The bus driver threw her no more than a contemptuous glance as he perused his late night passengers, but she felt like he saw everything.

Her naked breasts. The clamps held tight to her nipples. Her cunt, hidden by her crossed legs.

"Come on, baby." His voice got her to her feet when she wanted to curl up and hide in the transparent safety of the bus shelter. She hunched her shoulders and the jacket dropped forwards, mostly hiding her from view. The width of his shoulders did the rest and she was able to make it onto the bus and past the driver without exposing herself.

He paid for the tickets then guided her down the central aisle with a hand in the small of her back.

The old couple frowned at her slightly, but their eyes were on her face, which was a frozen mask of humiliation, rather than her nakedness, which was breaking free with every hesitant step.

"Are you all right, dear?" the old woman asked as she drew level. Her slightly clouded gaze went over her shoulder to sir, white, almost invisible eyebrows creased with disapproval.

"Agnes-," her husband looked embarrassed, but she shrugged off his restraining hand on her arm.

"I'm fine," she managed, smiling tremulously. "Just tired."

She hurried past, making for a bench near the back, away from everyone else.

"No." His voice was low and deep in her ear, and it stopped her dead.

She allowed him to guide her right to the back of the bus, relief making her dizzy.

When she reached the bench seat along the rear wall of the bus, though, she realised she's relinquished her anticipation too soon.

He took a seat in to the left, then positioned her in the middle, directly in front of the aisle running the length of the bus.

Directly in the line of sight of the driver should he look in the mirror hung above his seat.

The old couple or the young man, should they happen to glance back.

Hands moving almost idly, he rearranged her jacket so that her breasts - and that shiny, eye-catching chain - were easily visible. He tugged at the bottom of her jacket, drawing it away from her body, until her legs were revealed, not crossed this time, but pressed tightly together.

"Open," he said.

She couldn't. She absolutely could not.

She dragged in a shuddering breath and shook her head.

She wanted to look at him, plead for mercy with her eyes, but then she'd have to acknowledge the command, eye to eye. And after that, she'd be expected to obey.

He waited for the length of three rapid heartbeats then tugged on the chain, hard.

"Open."

Oh god. Oh fuck. If she didn't do it now, he'd make her.

Carnation. Her safe word wavered in her head, ready to jump to her tongue, but she didn't utter it. Because though her stomach was cramped with her, her skin slick with stress sweat, her clit was pounding hard and she knew she was wet enough that he could bend her over the seat in front and slam into her with one powerful thrust.

She was dying of mortification, but she was also more turned on than she could remember being in her life.

"Three, two-"

Before he could finish the countdown and seal her fate for a vicious punishment when they finally made it home, she opened her legs.

Wider than was decent, even had her legs been sheathed in denim. Enough to expose all of her, the humid air of the bus heating cool against her heated flesh.

Was it her imagination, or did the bus driver glance back? The distance was too far for her to tell but she imagined it. Him seeing her, seeing everything.

"Good girl."

There they were, those two fucking words again.

She didn't know how they had the power to make everything alright, but they did. So much so that she didn't object by so much as a whisper as his hands drifted down to whisper over her thigh. Lower, until he was reaching the heart of her.

He played there, gently, lighting, showing his approval of the wetness at her core with a low grunt, dipping his fingers in and then running them up to her clit.

She gasped then, legs twitching as she fought the urge to close them. She was sensitive, already throbbing.

She tensed, waiting for a terse word or a painful smack against the tender flesh on the inside of her thigh, but he only crooned softly, understanding.

His understanding only went so far, however. He gave her a moment to adjust to his touch, then started circling her clit with firm fingers, just the way she liked.

She reached out and grabbed the metal handrail at the top of the seat above, holding on to it for dear life as he fingered her on the bus, in full view of the spattering of passengers and the driver.

"Please," she pleaded, as she felt it start to build. "Don't make. I can't-,"

"Yes you can. You will."

Fuck.

There was nothing to do but stare straight ahead, eyes glued to the mirror above the bus driver, both hoping he'd look and praying he wouldn't, as she game with a low gasp and a full body tremble. He rang it out of her, a send hand clamping down on her thigh and keeping her exposed as pleasure passed into sensitivity and she fought to pull away from him.

She thought she'd scream when he finally ceased his ministrations, rubbing gently instead, rewarding her for her bravery, her endurance.

It wasn't quite over yet. When he drew his hand away, her instinct was to grab at her coat, pull it tightly round her. Instead she waited as he lifted his fingers to her mouth, fed them to her to suck clean.

When she'd removed every trace of herself, he closed her coat over himself, doing up the buttons with the same care with which he'd released them.

Not glancing to see where they were, he hit the button to call to the driver to stop.

She didn't think her legs were strong enough to hold her, but she somehow managed to stand, made it down the aisle, clumsily navigated the steps in the middle.

She resolved to ignore the bus driver as she stepped off, but she couldn't help throwing him a glance. The look he gave her back left no room for uncertainty.

He knew. He saw.

She paused, made sure she had his complete attention.

And smiled.