tagErotic HorrorThe Late Bus

The Late Bus


The woman was one of two passengers on the bus. She was sitting two rows behind the driver, on the opposite side. The other passenger, a further two rows back on the driver's side, was a well-dressed man with a black trilby hat pulled low over his forehead.

The woman had placed her handbag on the seat by the window and was clearly visible to the man. Her thighs were closed but splayed out below the knee. Protruding into the gangway of the bus were black fishnets and a bright red stiletto shoe with a strap high on the ankle.

Her lipstick had been applied thickly and matched the colour of her footwear. In the shade of thick mascara, her eyes were soft and brown, the colour of Demerara sugar. Her skirt was mid length and black and pulled tight to the waist by a shiny black leather belt. Her jacket, too, was black leather, short and unzipped over a maroon blouse. The top two buttons were undone, leaving a glimpse of large, but firm cleavage. Her hair was long, wavy and strikingly bright red.

The man in the trilby sat motionless and at an angle. His eyes were half shut but fixed firmly on the woman.

The bus slowed and the driver pulled up alongside an empty bus stop.

"You'll have to get off now. I'm turning round. There'll be another bus in 20 minutes."

He offered no apology and no explanation.

The woman was first off the bus. Her strides were short but quick and her heels made a noise on the floor of the bus. The man in the trilby rose slowly and followed the woman off the bus pausing momentarily to exchange brief eye contact with the driver. After exiting the bus the man walked past the bus stop and continued some fifty yards down the road before opening the door and climbing into a large, dark blue car which was visible under the direct glare of a flickering street lamp.

The woman was sitting on a seat next to the bus stop. She was clutching her handbag tightly with both hands and shivering. The pupils were wide in her Demerara eyes which were focused on the dark car which harboured the man in the black trilby and had shown no signs of moving.

A shadow and soft footprints announced the arrival and unwelcome intrusion of a middle-aged man who sat down uncomfortably close to the woman. His alcohol-tainted breath was short and fast and made a slight hissing noise as it passed over discoloured teeth. He wore a lecherous smile.

A nicotine-stained hand dropped onto a fishnet thigh and moved up and down, each movement taking the grubby finger closer to the area where stocking top met naked thigh.

"Take your hands off and crawl back into the gutter."

The voice from under the trilby was low and firm.

Still grinning, he replied,

"Go fuck yourself. I was here first."

The words were scarcely off his lips when the man from the car thrust his left hand into the other's face and grabbed him around the front of the face, his strong grip forcing the mouth to open wide, giving his expression to resemble that of a startled fish.

His next movement was much slower and more deliberate. Reaching underneath his jacket he produced a large black gun and, using his right hand, pushed the long, shiny barrel through yellow teeth into a choking throat. As he struggled to breathe, the man lost control of his bladder and a large wet patch of urine spread quickly around the top of his grubby denim jeans.

The smartly-dressed man pulled the gun from the other's mouth and released his grip.

"Lie down on the bench, motherfucker."

He spoke barely louder than a whisper."

"There's a good boy. Now put your hands behind your back and don't move until you hear me drive off."

He turned and spoke to the woman.

"You'd better come with me. I'll give you a lift home."

He touched her gently around the shoulder, ushering her in the direction of his car. As they walked swiftly towards the car he removed his coat. A large erection showed through his trousers.

After glancing back at the figure which was still prostrate on the bench, the man opened the front passenger-side door. The woman climbed in. Her skirt rode up exposing several inches of shapely thigh. Her face was pale under the blinking neon.

After walking around the rear of the car, the man climbed into the driver's seat, checked and adjusted the rear view mirror and fastened his safety belt. He turned the ignition, put the car into gear and drove off.

"I live quite close. Fancy a bite to eat and a nightcap?"

"I'd rather go straight home, please. Oh, thanks by the way, thanks very much."

The woman's skirt had ridden higher but she held her handbag across the top of her thighs. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and told the driver where she lived.

A 20 minute ride later, the car pulled in outside a small, neat semi-detached house in a well-kept but dimly lit street. Before reaching across to open the passenger side door, the driver cut the engine and briefly reached under the dashboard to his right.

Opening the low gate to the path which led to the front of her house, the woman was aware that that the car engine was spluttering but failing to fire. She paused outside the door, key in hand. The car still showed no signs of starting.

She returned to the street and after the man had wound the window down, spoke.


"Looks like it. The bloody thing's been playing up for a while. I've been meaning to get it checked out. Never got round to it"

"You'd better come in. I'll make us both a hot drink."

"No, it's o.k. I'll phone for a cab, collect the car in the morning."

The man continued turning the ignition key but the car engine remained unresponsive.

"Look, I insist. You were a huge help earlier. I owe you one. You can stay the night if you want. I can easily make up a bed in the spare room."

The man shrugged before answering.

"O.k. If you're sure it's not too much trouble."

He followed her into the house. His coat, draped over his left arm, hid his erection.

They went straight into the kitchen where the woman made them each a cup of cocoa. Finishing her cup first, the woman excused herself, returning after ten minutes having quickly made the bed ready for her guest.

She had discarded her shoes and put a plain black jumper over her blouse. Although it concealed her cleavage the tightness of the jumper emphasised the swell of her firm, large breasts.

With the black trilby removed, the man's eyes were more readily noticeable. Like the woman's they were brown, but darker; Muscovado to her Demerara.

What little conversation took place was mostly polite small talk. Neither was hungry and when the woman suggested she show him to his room, the man accepted. He declined the offer of a pair of pyjamas, explaining he would sleep in his underclothes.

After bidding him goodnight and restating her gratitude, the woman crossed the landing into her bedroom. Her door closed and was quickly followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Five minutes later, she heard a light tap on her door.

In the quiet of the night the deep, low voice was clear:

"I' m having trouble sleeping. I'm going to call a cab. I'll let myself out.

"Don't go without letting me say goodbye. Wait downstairs while I get dressed."

The stairs made a noise as the man made his way down. There was only silence when he tip-toed back up.

Hearing the key turn, the man was immediately through the door. The gun with which he had earlier threatened the man at the bus stop was in his right hand. He held his left index finger over his lip.

"Shh," he said in a soft whisper.

She was braless under a lacy silk negligee. Her nipples were visible and protruding.

The man switched the light off, moved across to the window and opened the curtains. A full moon in a clear sky bathed the room in light. Outside, the garden showed signs of neglect. By a crumbling brick shed stood a rusting lawnmower, a wooden ladder and an assortment of garden tools.

"Be a good girl and I'll try to show you my gentle side. Struggle and I'll show you pain and violence above which you couldn't imagine."

Pushing her onto the bed he carefully parted her thighs. Her sex was shaved.

He traced the barrel of the gun along the inside of her thigh and ran the end up the outside lips of her vagina. Black metal met black silk as he hooked the gun underneath he slip. With a sharp, upward movement he ripped the fabric open.

"You will be a good girl, won't you?"

Placing the gun on the floor, close to his foot, the man picked up a fishnet stocking which had been place over the back of a chair. He ran the stocking upwards along her belly and tied it gently around her neck before reaching over to a small chest of drawers and selecting a pot of Vaseline.

He dipped the barrel of the gun in to the Vaseline. He ran the fingers of his free hand through the long red hair. His breathing was hard and heavy. Her breathing was harder and faster.

He pointed the gun in her direction as he manoeuvred his shoes, socks trousers and underpants off. His penis was long and thick; the tip swollen, red and angry. Relieved of his lower clothing, he knelt down and pushed his face roughly between her thighs.

There was a fierce urgency to his actions. His head moved quickly and wildly up and down as he pressed the width of his tongue into her intimate flesh. There was no pretence of finesse; he was like an untamed starving dog at a meal.

He maintained the same intense rhythm for nearly half an hour. His eyes were wild when he lifted his head.

The gun was back in his hand. He dipped it into the Vaseline."

I'm going to shove this up your cunt."

His voice was now much rougher, almost a growl.

Despite the underlying cruelty of his act, there was a degree of delicacy in his actions. The movement of the barrel in and out was slow. At a distance it could have been mistaken for an act of tenderness.

"You will be a good girl, won't you?"

After less than a minute, the man removed the gun and after wiping the barrel on the torn negligee, placed it once more on the floor.

"Now, I'm going to fuck you."

He wasted little time before climbing on top and forcing himself upon her.

As he thrust into her for the first time, the woman raked her fingernails across his chest, leaving four parallel marks and drawing blood. He smiled.

"I like pain"

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as fury seemed to take a grip of his body. The only noise of protest appeared to come from the bedsprings which creaked and groaned in extra quick time.

From penetration to ejaculation took less than ten minutes. At the point of his orgasm, the man withdrew and pointed the tip of his cock over her clit, directing his jerking stream onto its chosen target.

His efforts over, he slumped onto his side. She lay next to him and made no effort to get away.

The man's breathing slowly returned to normal.

As he recovered, the woman reached across the bed and into the top drawer of the bedside table.

"Did you enjoy your birthday present, husband?"

Producing two rings which she had removed from the drawer, she placed one on the wedding finger of her hand, the other on the man's finger. Next she removed a wig. Underneath her hair was light brown and styled short.

"I enjoyed it very much, thank you, wife. It gets better every time."

The woman breathed a sigh of contentment.

"Your actor friends certainly did the business. The bus driver was good but the other one was something else."

The man looked puzzled.

"The driver was one of my actor friends but the other one was a total stranger."

The woman went pale but turned yet paler when she turned round to respond to a tap at the window. Sensing her fear, her husband, too, turned round.

The tap was slow, steady and unrelenting. The face at the window wore a lecherous smile. The teeth were yellow.


The grin was bigger, now.


In the distance, an owl hooted.





The Late Bus is based on a story told to me by an exotic Caribbean princess.

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byCuddlyAl© 4 comments/ 30415 views/ 6 favorites

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