Riding Through The Night

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Anal

A few weeks ago I was at Victoria Coach Station in London, about to board a night bus to Aberdeen, where I’m at university — a journey of over 500 miles, and 12 hours. Just before I set out for the coach station I’d had a huge row with my fiancée, and I was feeling fed up and not looking forward to a long, uncomfortable, exhausting journey. Given the argument I’d had, one of the other passengers waiting to board the bus didn’t help my mood.

She was a Goth girl, draped all over her boyfriend as they smooched loudly and sloppily, putting on a show for anyone who cared to watch. He was tall, skeletally thin with an acne-scarred face and bleached blond hair gelled into a spiky Mohican. She looked like a younger version of the lead singer from an ’80s punk group, Siouxsie and the Banshees. Jet black hair, short and spiky; a thin bony face with a long nose, a gold stud in one nostril; panda eyes, rimmed with black make-up; and black lipstick on her thin lips. She was dressed in a black denim jacket, black-and-white hooped T-shirt, cropped to reveal a flat white stomach, a silver ring piercing her navel, a short black cotton skirt and stockings that matched her shirt. (I could tell they were stockings because when she reached her arms around her boyfriend’s neck her skirt rode up to reveal a glimpse of pale thigh.) She looked maybe 19, about three years younger than me.

The two of them murmured to each other in an East European language, I guessed Polish. As the bus drew into position they had a last snog, the bloke’s hand slipping under the girl’s skirt and giving her skinny bum a squeeze. Trying to ignore them I got on board. It was a double-decker coach, and I went upstairs and slumped into a seat near the back. There were only a handful of passengers, and I hoped I’d get some isolation and a chance to try and grab some sleep. No such luck — I’d just got settled when the Goth clattered up the stairs in her Doc Marten boots and threw herself down in the seat directly across the aisle from me. Apparently oblivious to me, she reached into a huge shoulder bag and fished out a pink mobile phone. As the bus pulled out the girl started talking and giggling in a flirty manner into the phone, presumably to the guy she’d been snogging barely five minutes earlier.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. We’d reached the outskirts of London, and I was starting to drift off, when I became aware of an annoying buzz. I glanced across at the girl and she was rolling her head in time to the music coming from a personal stereo. It must have been deafening through her ear jacks, because I could hear every note and every word of a loud, aggressive rock song. I had visions of having to put up with that for the next 12 hours, and glared at her. It took several seconds before she sensed my eyes on her, and her head swivelled to look at me. When I didn’t look away she tossed her head irritably and said, in an overly loud, heavily accented voice, “What, you want photo of me or something?”

I told her no, I wanted her to turn her fucking music down. A frown crossed her face, then she ripped the ear jacks out and snapped “What?” I repeated my request. She glared back at me, snarled “Fuck off” and plugged back into her music, throwing herself petulantly back in her seat and closing her eyes. A couple of minutes later, though, I noticed that the volume did drop considerably.

The coach wasn’t due to make its first stop for three hours, but with the combination of its movement, the lumpy seat, muted conversation from other passengers, the rain which had started to lash the windows, and the mixture of annoyance and guilt over the row with my fiancée, I found it impossible to get to sleep. Laying full length on the double seat, my head resting against the cold window, my gaze klasbahis yeni giriş naturally fell on my Polish travelling companion. Through half-closed eyes I studied her as, her own eyes squeezed tightly shut, she nodded in time to her music. She had taken off her denim jacket, and I saw that her T-shirt was sleeveless, one skinny white arm bearing a crude Celtic-style tattoo. At one point she stretched her arms above her head, yawning, and I was a little surprised to see a soft down of black hair in her armpit.

Despite my earlier irritation with her, I began to study her more closely. She had a small bust, but her nipples were forming quite prominent hillocks in the material of her shirt. She had removed her boots and doubled up her legs, her heels resting on the edge of her seat. This had made her skirt slip up almost to her waist, giving me an unrestricted view of her bare thighs. Her legs were slim but shapely, with well defined calves under her striped stockings. As I gazed at her ghostly white thighs, I realised with a start that I could actually see a shadow of black pubic stubble extending down the inside of the right one.

I felt an unbidden stirring in the front of my trousers, and my mouth went dry. Obviously I should have looked away, but…still pretending sleep, I casually shifted my position, trying to see under the skirt to her underwear, but the angle was wrong. I glanced up for a moment — and my eyes locked on hers, staring at me with a frown! With a pout, she asked “You liking the view?” Feeling myself blush furiously, and mumbling an apology, I sat upright, staring straight ahead of me at the front of the coach. When I glanced sideways at the Goth a few minutes later though, she was still showing off her thighs, and seemed to be smiling to herself about something.

I glanced across at the girl again, shortly before we pulled into Birmingham bus station at 2.30am, and saw with a shock that her hand was between her thighs, apparently stoking her pussy through her pants. She glanced sideways in my direction but I whipped my gaze forwards, pretending not to have noticed, and feeling myself blush again. In the bus station I stared fixedly at the brightly lit, deserted platform until we pulled out, with two-and-a-half hours until the next stop.

Once we were out of Birmingham, and back on the motorway, I risked another glance at the Pole and got a further shock. She was now sitting facing me across the aisle, her back against the window, her feet up on the seat and her legs apart, giving me a perfect view of silky black thong panties, with equally silky black pubes curling out either side. I tried to drag my eyes away, but at that moment she saw I was looking. Rather than adopt a more modest position she opened her thighs even wider, a sly grin on her face. No longer listening to her MP3 player, she arched her eyebrows and asked quietly, “You want give me ten pounds?”

I was stunned. Surprised at the huskiness of my voice, I replied, “Why would I give you ten pounds?”

Her grin widening, the girl said, “So I jerk you off.” She made a wanking gesture with her hand.

I have no real excuse for what happened next. All I can say is that I was feeling frustrated and fed up, I wasn’t going see my fiancée again for months — even assuming she was still my fiancée after the row we’d had — and I was faced with a funky, sexy young chic offering me a hand job for a tenner. Trying to keep my voice from shaking, I answered, “I can do that for myself for nothing.” Going for broke, I ran my tongue suggestively around my lips..

She looked momentarily surprised, but then the grin returned. “Dirty fucker! Okay, for twenty I suck you. No swallow though.” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. I glanced around klasbahis giriş me, but in the low-lit coach there wasn’t another person sitting within eight rows of us. After a moment’s stunned hesitation I scrabbled my wallet out of my pocket, dragged two ten pound notes out of it, and slipped across the aisle to join her on her seat. She swung her feet to the floor to make room for me, put the money in a pocket in her skirt and rested a hand on the crotch of my jeans. With a chuckle she muttered, “Oh good, you got ready for me.”

With that, she unzipped my jeans, slipped my cock through the gap in my boxers, and I watched in amazement as her glossy black head dipped towards my lap. A moment later I shuddered as a soft, wet tongue traced the underside of my erect shaft, then her lips closed over me. I slipped my hips forward as I felt the girl’s hand burrowing into my underpants, then her sharp, black-painted nails started digging rhythmically into my scrotum as she sucked at me and swirled her tongue around my cock, from the tip to the root and back again. I could feel she had a stud in her tongue, which rubbed erotically against my sensitive flesh.

I could feel the weight of her small breasts on my knee as she leant across me. Acting on instinct, I slipped a hand through the armhole of her T-shirt and curled my fingers around one of her tits. She didn’t falter for a moment in sucking me, and pressed the warm boob against my palm. Encouraged, I took a nipple between two of my fingers and began to gently stroke and tweak it. The girl twitched against me, and began to moan softly as I played with her nip. The intensity of her sucking on me increased, and she began to squeeze my balls more firmly. Her studded tongue raced up and down my shaft as her lips caressed me. Just as I felt my climax building she released my cock from her mouth and started to pump me with her fingers. I saw stars exploding before my eyes as I exploded into a paper tissue she had ready.

My new Goth friend sat up breathing deeply and gave me a grin, her eyes shining. Without even thinking what I was doing I threw my arms around her and pulled her to me, smacking my lips onto hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, and for a few seconds it seemed as if she would resist and push me away. But then her eyes flickered closed, her mouth opened to mine and she slipped her arms around my neck, pressing her slim body to me. I revelled in the feeling of her tongue, with its little round stud, stroking mine as we kissed deeply, one of my hands again inside her T-shirt stroking her boob. A wicked impulse entered my head, and I dropped my other hand to her bare thigh. She tensed and, before she could react further, I slipped my hand under her skirt, and my fingers past her thong onto her pussy. She broke our kiss long enough to groan, “Bastard, you no paid for this!”, but immediately pressed her mouth to mine again and pressed her hips forwards, pushing my fingers deep insider her.

Her snatch was boiling hot, sopping wet and oh, so silky. I pumped two fingers in an out of her, swirling them around against her pussy walls as she began to pant into my mouth. I trailed my thumb joyously across her hairy mound. My fiancée has a Brazilian wax, and it was lovely to feel a thick, soft bush of hair on this girl. It only took a minute or so before she tore her mouth from mine, pressed her face firmly into my neck and screamed into me as her pussy lips gripped my fingers and she jerked against me over and over, before subsiding with a huge gasp into her seat. She smiled blearily and whispered, “Mmm, that was nice.” She reached out her hand lazily, and stroked it across the bulge in the front of my jeans. “You want I suck you again?”

Any nerves I’d had about other passengers overhearing us klasbahis güvenilirmi had long gone. I thought I’d try pushing my luck, and muttered, “I’d rather you fucked me.”

Her lips formed into a firm line and she shook her head. “Not without rubber. Not safe.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. I’d been carrying a condom round in my wallet for three years (not the same one!) ‘just in case’, and I was finally going to get to use it. Grinning like the cat that swallowed the cream, I said, “It just so happens…” and pulled out the packet with a flourish.

She still looked uncertain. Her hand still absently stroking my rampant dick through my jeans, she bit her lip and said, “I don’ know. Lukasz not like.”

I assumed Lukasz was the blond kid back in London. Resisting the temptation to say it wasn’t him I wanted to fuck, I edged nearer to her, and stroked the naked skin of her inner thigh with a fingertip. “I won’t tell him if you don’t. Look, I’ve got another forty quid in my wallet. It’s yours if…”

That melted away any last reservations she might have had. Biting her lip again, and avoiding my eyes, she nodded. “Okay. You fuck me for forty pounds. But quick, okay?”

I hoped it wouldn’t be too quick, but I watched mesmerised as my girl slipped her pants down her legs, giving me a glorious sight of her hairy damp snatch, then tucked the rear hem of her skirt into her waistband. She unzipped me again, pushed my jeans and pants down to my knees and slipped the condom down my shaft. Then sat herself in my lap. A little fumbling, and then I felt the tip of my knob slipping between her warm, tight pussy lips. She pushed down onto me with a sigh and just sat there for a moment, getting used to the feel of me inside her. I enjoyed the sensation of her smooth buttocks resting on my thighs. Then, resting her hands on the seat in front of us, she began to lift herself up and down on my cock. We started slowly, gradually increasing the speed and intensity of our thrusts. I’d never done it in that position before, and it felt great. I seemed to be going really deep into her, making her gasp as she bounced up and down on my dick. With one hand I gripped her thin hip; I reached the other around her and found her clit, pressing a finger against it as I stroked my thumb through her bush again.

The moment I touched her clit my Goth lover went wild, thrashing her head about and keening like a small dog. I was sure some of the other passengers must be aware of what we were doing, but I was long past caring. She bucked more and more frantically on my cock, and I had to reach an arm around her waist to avoid slipping out of her cunt. Her clit had become wet and slippery, and I began rubbing two fingers across it. That sent her even more crazy, and she started gasping what sounded like obscenities in Polish. I could feel I was about to cum but, gritting my teeth, I held on and held on until my girl threw her head back and wailed, when I finally shot my load into her as her pussy tightened satisfyingly around my cock. While I was still recovering my breath she squirmed her face around to mine and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth, gripping my cheeks between her hands.

She stayed on my lap, my flagging cock half in and half out of her, our arms around each other as we snogged and giggled together. I suddenly felt completely spent, more tired than I could remember in ages. I wanted to get the maximum pleasure out of this girl while I had her there, but…

I was jerked awake as the bus pulled out of Glasgow bus station in the grey morning light. Still half-asleep I glanced down at my jeans, relieved to see that at some point I’d done them up again. The seat next to me was empty. Glasgow was the second stop since I’d fallen asleep, and I had no idea where my Polish Goth had got off the bus. She’d left me no clue as to her identity, but as I slumped back across the aisle of the bus into my original seat I realised she had left me a memento. Tucked inside the fly of my jeans were her soaking wet black thong panties.

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın