Bust Stop

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I thought I’d missed the last bus home. I’d a return fare: £17.50 London to Glasgow. I’d a long weekend and I was looking forward to seeing my husband. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. I was a student at Central College. It was the only one that I could get into with the grades I got, but I was determined to succeed. But I wasn’t making a very good job of it. In fact, I wasn’t sure if I was going back. The bus was usually mobbed, so I was pleasantly surprised when I found it to be so empty. There was practically nobody on the top deck apart from the usual couple of weirdos and an old guy.

The old man must have been about 40. He had on a shirt and tie and looked ok. I sat at the back across from him, smiling, as I got into my window seat. He just kinda nodded. He looked at my face, but, like most men, then his gaze flickered down to my tits.

My husband, used to kid me on. He said I looked the spit of Boy George, but with big, big tits. He seemed to like them well enough. Sometimes I think he liked putting his cock between them for a diddy ride, more than he liked normal sex. I didn’t mind. I’d tried giving him a blow job once, but didn’t really like the taste. He seemed happy enough. I was too, but I’d never been with anyone else.

I only had on a flimsy top. I prided myself on travelling light, as if that alone, somehow made me courageous. Anyway, I reasoned, the heating on the bus was usually on full blast and it was usually too warm. I hadn’t noticed at first, until we were moving, that the heating on the bus wasn’t working. It was blowing a gale outside, so that a window seat was like being in a permanent draught. You can never sleep for more than an hour on the bus, but I knew that tonight there wasn’t even the chance of that. I felt as if I’d seen enough books to last me a lifetime, so I hadn’t even brought a book. The only think I could do was look out the window. But there was nothing much to see at night, other than motorway, and my own reflection.

We had been travelling for about an hour. But it was deadly slow and we were still in the suburbs of London. I felt as if I was the only person in the world and all the houses and all the cars we passed were full of the same kind of people as me.

In reflection, I caught glimpses of the old man sitting across from me, looking at me, or more precisely, my tits. I don’t know why I did it, but I straightened my back, ever so slightly so that they must have seemed to him even bigger. Men always looked at my tits. I told my husband I hated it and would gladly have chopped them off. But sometimes I didn’t. Sometimes, I liked men looking at them.

I must have dozed off. My head banged against the window and that woke me up with a start. I think I’d actually drooled down my face. I looked across quickly to see if the old man had noticed. He was looking straight at me. Instinctively, I said,

‘I’m sorry.’

‘That’s ok,’ he said and smiled and laughed, a nice reassuring kind of laugh.

‘You want some of this,’ he said. He has a half bottle of Grant’s whiskey and he put his arm out and up like a Hitler salute, as if he was performing a Monty Python sketch, and took a quick slug.

‘I can’t,’ I said primly.

‘Why not,’ he said, ‘You driving?’

‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m a Jehovah’s witness’.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said as if I’d told him I was dying.

I felt sorry for him. He was probably an alcoholic. I imagined him travelling up and down on buses just for somewhere to stay.

‘Cold, eh?’ he said.

‘Yes, it is quite cold,’ I said, ‘and I forgot my jacket.’ It was a white lie, but I immediately regretted it.

‘Bummer’, he said, taking another sip of his whisky, but this time without histrionics.

‘I mean, that’s a shame,’ he said, correcting himself.

‘Look,’ he said, struggling in his seat, to take off his suit jacket.’Put this on. It’s too cold.’

‘It’s ok,’ I said, ‘I’m fine’. But he had already flung it and it was lying snuggled in my lap, smelling of tobacco, but still nice and warm from the heat of his body. I picked it up by the collar and went to fling it back, but he made a face.

‘It’s fine. I’ve got this’. He showed me the bottle.

That settled it. I put it over my shoulders and immediately felt warmer. But I felt bad.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘we’ll share it’. I didn’t really know what I meant, but I did mean it.

I took the jacket off and he came and sat in the seat next to me. At first I put the jacket on our laps so that he had one half and I had the other, but it was obvious that didn’t work.

I tried pinning one side of the jacket with my back and reached over and put the other half behind his back. He leaned forward like a baby on a high chair, and then leaned back again. It was a bit better. I could feel the heat from his arm, but the rest of me was freezing. It seemed even colder than before. We suddenly turned a corner to go onto the M80 antalya escort and fell into each other. That seemed to break the ice. He put his arm around my back and pulled me toward him, so that we were toasty, like brother and sister.

I fell asleep leaning into his shoulder. I thought I was dreaming.I felt a hand, like a starfish, work its way slowly and surely into the back of my blouse, so that it was resting on the bare skin of my midriff. I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing more than keep my breathing even and continue to kid on that I was asleep. His breathing quickened a little when his hand reached the cusp of my bra. Then it was up and under that trap and gently grasping the silky white smoothness of my skin, resting there, as if tired from all its exertions. Then it moved on, gently, so gently, his index finger, circling the cragged aureole of my nipple, so that when he did finally, almost accidentally, nudge against it, with the side of his finger, not only that nipple, but its twin on my other breast, sprang into life, like two baby’s cocks. He moved his forefinger up and over my nipple, as if measuring it and feeling for its fullness. I was finding it more difficult to feign sleep. I suddenly sat up straight. His hand seemed to whip away instinctively and cower on the neutral territory of my right shoulder.

My back was sore from were he had been pushing his bony arm in behind me and the chair. I turned away from him, his arm falling from me and his jacket falling into the gap between the two chairs. I pushed my bum out to create a distance between us. I looked out into the passing night, using its speeding blackness, as a mirror, to see what he was doing, which was a mistake. He was looking at me, looking at him. I was first to avert my eyes.

He put his jacket on my bare shoulders, leaving it hanging there as if I was some kind of mannequin. I pulled at it, to cover myself and touched his hand. His hand remained on my bare shoulder. It seems kind of strange now, with all the traffic noise and the drunken boys at the front of the bus with their stupid football songs, but I heard the creak of his chair as he moved, repositioned his legs and body, so that were lying parallel to each other. Only we weren’t parallel. He pushed one hand up the side of my blouse and straight into my bra, as if his hand had memorised the route. There was no subtlety now. He pulled and pushed my big wobbly tit about like a grapefruit and tweaked and stretched until the nipple came alive. The other hand shot up and joined its partner. I tried to pull away, but his hand followed the contours of my body, pulling me closer to his body so that I could feel his hard cock, against my ass cheeks, through my dress.

I shifted in the seat, trying not to gasp, as the outside of his hand brushed down my stomach. He started fingering me, up and down, stroking my clitoris, until, despite myself, I cried out. I’d never had an orgasm before. I never knew that you could have more than one. I was gasping for breath and moaning, like a cow in labour, when he slipped one finger, then other, three, then four fingers up my fanny. The boys at the front of the bus had stopped singing. They were like meerkats, with all there heads pointing in my direction. But I couldn’t help myself. I gave out a final grunt, and actually swore, saying ‘oh fuck’ as he tried to his whole hand up my cunt, but he couldn’t get his thumb in. My pants were that wet that I thought that I’d peed myself.

I heard one of the boys at the front of the bus saying: ‘that fat slapper’s getting fucked up there.’

I resented more being called fat than a slapper. I was almost grateful when the old man pushed my head down towards his lap. It was, as if, with the protection of the headrest, I’d become invisible. He didn’t even say anything, just pulled down his zip, and let his cock spring out. It was much bigger than my husbands, longer and thicker and seemed to bend to the left, rather than stand upright the way it should. Even the head of his cock was longer and more purpled. I tentatively touched the head of it with my tongue, gently holding the stalk of his cock and licking at its little weeping open eye. He tweeked one of my nipples so hard that I cried out. But there was no sound. He pushed roughly down on my head and pushed his cock up into my mouth so that I almost gagged. One of the rowdy gang of kids had edged his way forward. He was standing on his tiptoes so that he could see my head going up and down on the old man’s cock. I could feel it grow harder in my mouth. I used my tongue to lick at the head of his cock. I wanted to taste his spunk and fill my mouth with its goodness. But his cock would go softer and he would impatiently, tweek my nipple harder and pull at my hair, pulling my head up and down, as if he was punishing me.

The old man stopped trying to feed me his cock. He got himself an even tighter grip on my hair and pulled my lara escort head up suddenly, my mouth floundering open like a fish out of water. There was a middle aged couple sitting half way up the bus. They were looking back at me, until the woman pulled, what I took to be her husband, down into the seat. I could almost hear her tut tutting. Everyone else had left the top deck, passing us on the stairs and I hadn’t even noticed. Only the younger boys with the baseball caps remained. They weren’t leaving, at least not until the older heavier one at the front, gave them the nod. The youngest looking boy had edged his way further forward. Two or three of his pals were standing behind him, with their baseball caps pulled down, as if to protect themselves from being seen. I knew they were all watching my head going up and down on his hard-soft cock. My face flushed bright red. But the old man wouldn’t let me look away. He pulled my hair back so tight that the boys must have thought I was looking at them defiantly, with my chin stuck out. It was them that looked away first. They started to return to their seats, in ones and twos. The younger, skinner ones, first. The burly, fatter one, last. Show over.

The old man began to stand up. The momentum of him pushing forward and pulling back my hair made me stagger. His hand moved quickly, pulling down my dress and pants so that my ankles seemed locked together. My bare ass seemed more vulnerable than usual in that cold public place. I was strangely glad that no one could see what he was doing. He finger fucked me again, with two, three and then four fingers up my snatch. Once again my whole body went into spasms and as I came again and called out, ‘oh, oh, oh, oh’, each time his hand fucked my insides. I was on the cusp of coming again with my eyes shut and my neck stretched back in fucking ecstasy when he suddenly stopped.

The group of young boys had formed a half circle around our seats. The couple I took to be married fled hurriedly down the stairs. Her first and then him. She was looking forward, down the stairs. He was looking back, because my big tits were now on full show. The old guy had roughly pulled my bra down around my waist and my tits just spilled out of my blouse. He pushed me forward so that they jutted out, up over the top of the seat. I was grunting like a pig, through my nose. The old guy was continuing to slide his fingers in and out of sticky cunt. I could feel his head bobbing about down at my bum. Then he did a funny thing. He started licking my ass cheeks, one side then the other, biting on them. I pushed forward when he ran his wet tongue up and down the cleft. Each individual hair seemed to stand to attention, waiting. I felt his puckered kiss as he separated my ass cheeks and felt the way into my little hole with the tip of his tongue. He withdrew the fingers from my cunt, using the index finger of my slippery juices to get even more of his tongue up.

‘She likes getting fucked up the ass,’ he said to the watching boys, as if in explanation. But, at home, my husband apologised, even if the touched me there with his hand, accidentally. I put that thought out of my mind. I was a slut and I wanted to be used as a slut.

The boys seemed to have taken the old man’s statement as some kind of invitation. The heavier older one was first to react. He touched one of my tits as if it was going to say boo to him and make him run away. But then he got more confident, feeling the plumpness of one then the other. He made his choice and slid into the window seat grabbing greedily at the tit nearest him and getting as much of it in his mouth as he could: smooth skin, rough aureole, and nipple. The other three boys, pushed and jostled and pulled at each other to grasp and feel and squeeze my other tit. It was difficult to say, with all the name calling and showing off, what his name was, but the smallest one, with red hair, I think they called him Giro, was the first to get my other big nipple, into his mouth. He closed his eyes. It was lovely, like getting mugged by a gang of babies. I never thought that my nipples could get any bigger, but they did. I’d have liked to squirted my milk into their mouths.

My legs were shaking. The old man was propping me up. His cock was half hard, like a rubber ring. He was rubbing it up and down my ass, stopping at my little ass hole and trying to force it in, but it would just plop out again and he would go on with his rubbing, until I felt it get harder, as hard as it had been that long night.

One of the other boys had worked his way under the seats, into the gap between the seat and my knees, kneeling in front of me. Maybe it was that which made the old man’s cock hard. Maybe it was because I’d already stepped out of my pants and knickers and was practically nude. Maybe that made him hard. Or maybe it was the way I was using what seemed like the youngest one of the boys, the one they called Rab. muratpaşa escort I wasn’t just letting him lick my pussy. I was pushing down hard with my hips, grinding my swollen pussy into not only his waiting tongue, but also his nose and chin. It seemed like I was covering his whole face with my juice so that I could get his whole head inside my pussy lips.

The old man had stopped rubbing up down my cleft. I could almost feel the intensity of his concentration. He’d got a little bit of his cock up my ass, but it came back out again. He was holding the head of his cock against my arse hole and he was spitting on his fingers and using them to prise it open. I felt the bell of the tip go in. I stopped grinding down on Rab’s face, but he, just as quickly, moved forward, parting my pussy lips and splashing about inside of me with his tongue. But it was long enough. The old man got an inch of his cock in. Inch by inch he pushed it up, as if testing his grip. It felt strangely cold. Then he started banging slowly at first and then faster, his balls playing their insistent beat off my bum cheeks, banging young Rab’s head off the back of the chair. I squealed and tried to get away. It was like being tickled from the inside. But there was no where to go and no where I’d rather have been. Giro was still sucking away as if it was the best thing that he had ever had in his life. My nipples were getting that sore that I thought they were going to come out by the roots. David had immediately replaced the heavier boy Mick, on the window seat on my spare tit, as soon as it plopped out of his mouth. David was strangely gentle with my tit, kissing it, caressing it and touching the nipple with the tip of his tongue. I thought he was going to talk to it at one point. I patted him on the head, encouragingly.

Although I was practically nude, the boys were strangely reluctant to show any part of themselves. They still had their Wrangler jackets on. But there cocks were playing a different game and trying to push out of their trackies. Mick, the older burly boy, was the first to get his out. He simply pulled the band of his boxer down into a v shape. His lovely thick cock sprang up and out, with its veins bulging, as if it had been working out. I reached down to touch it. But I wasn’t quick enough. Two rubs of his dick and he came, like a high pressure water pistol, squirting up into the roof of the coach and into my hair. His cock momentarily drooped, but seemed to recover and stay thick and hard and long, about 9 inches.

Mick stood on the two seats, using the bent backs of the two boys in front of him to balance. He pushed his cock towards me. But he was still too far away. I could just reach it with my hand. I started with two fingers, pulling the foreskin back and forward. He still had a drip of spunk coming out. It tasted like a tadpole. The old man behind me, fucking my ass had slowed down. I could feel him tensing. His cock got harder and bent inside me and then it popped out, leaving his creamy goodness inside me. I was kinda glad because my ass was getting sore. The old man slumped back in the chair behind me. He buttoned his trouser and went and sat at the back of the bus. That meant I could lean further forward towards Mick’s nob which was waving in front of my face like a metronome. It was just out of reach of my mouth. He pushed further forward. I tasted his young fat squirming cock for the first time. But the backs of his pals gave way. His cock came out of my mouth and my chaffed nipples were free for the first time that night as they all fell backwards. I pulled my pants and skirt up with one hand, as Rab seemed to disappear like an insect caught in the light below me. I pushed up my bra and adjusted my blouse, looking at myself quickly in the mirror of the bus window. I looked contented. My nipples were sore, my fanny was soaking and my ass was well lubricated with the memory of a nice ache.

Mick’s cock began to droop, like a flower that had too much sunshine, in front of my eyes. It seemed rather a shame, a waste even, but that was life. And it was getting light outside. But Mick wasn’t looking at me. He still had his cock in his hand, test wanking it, with two or three pulls of his foreskin, to see if it still worked. He seemed to look three seats down, at the old man.

‘Is that it for the night?’ he said in a pleading kind of voice.

The old man was drinking the last of his whisky. He got up slowly adjusting his weight to the swaying of the coach as he moved down the aisle to be beside us. He stood over me, looking into my eyes. The first button on my blouse had broken. He reached across and undid the other three, pulling the ends up out of my fastened skirt. The boys watched, pushing, crowding in again, as he slid it off. I sat, with my skirt smoothed out, as he reached down and roughly pulled my bra cups up, over my tender breasts. I held my hands up, like a child getting ready for bed, as he jerked it off and placed it on the seat beside us. There was a slight tint to the windows. But it was light enough, for other motorists to catch a glimpse of me, with my breasts out, half naked. The old man cupped the breast nearest to him, pushing it up towards my mouth.

‘Suck on it,’ he said.

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