It’s hot and sultry today with a steely sun hanging in a flat featureless sky. I can feel the sweat trickling down between my breasts, prickling the backs of my legs, my armpits damp. That’s annoying because today of all days I have to go into town to get a birthday present for Hubby. I’ve left it to the last minute.
In our hotel bedroom I lay out fresh clothes – a light summer cotton skirt, a neat white blouse, a pretty, cream coloured lacy pair of knickers and a matching bra. I take off my sweaty teeshirt, slide out of my jeans and pants, unclip my bra and release my beautiful breasts. I stand in front of the breeze from the air-conditioner. I can feel the sweat evaporating and the heat being drawn away from my naked body. My skin relishes the cool feeling, my nipples tighten, the slightest electric tingle runs across my belly. I take my breasts in my hands, savouring their weight. My palms feel warm and sensuous on the cool skin and firming nipples.
My mind jolts back to last week. My lover behind me, her hands cupping my breasts, gently teasing and rolling and tugging my nipples. Her touch so different from a man’s. With her I drop to all fours, raising my arse in submission, back arched, head back, spreading myself open wantonly with my fingers. The tight feeling of the clamps she’s placed on my breasts, the pull and tug of the chain linking them and a third clamp gripping the root of my clitoris. The pressure, low down, makes it swell and pulse and throb with each movement. The chain swings and tugs, three points of unbelievable stimulation, of exquisite building ecstasy, on the verge of pain, deeply embedded in pleasure.
In the shower I let the water play over my body, running warm and mild through my hair, dripping from nose and eyebrows, over my shoulders, down across my body. It washes away the stress and grime, brings waves of relaxation, the incessant pattering drowning out the day to day noises and isolating me. The shampoo smells sweet, the soap a subtle slight tang of lavender and hibiscus. Slowly and carefully, I shave legs, armpits, cunt – smooth and perfect. A dab of scent between my breasts, another on the inside of my thighs.
The slippery cool silk of the panties slides up my thighs, coming to nestle against the smooth, shaven skin, slipping between my buttocks. The pretty bra lifts my breasts and the crisp white blouse gives a glimpse of their swell, fringed in lace, as I breathe. I step into the skirt and pull it up. The cotton is fine and light, perfect on such a hot day. The hem falls to mid thigh, loose and cool. I pick up wallet, cards, cigarettes, car keys from the side table by the door and go out to the hire car parked by the kerb.
Damn! Hands full, I fumble the keys. Fuck! Straight through the grating and into the drain! There’s a bus along in a few minutes. Quicker than getting a mechanic. I climb inside. It’s pretty crowded, housewives on the way to the market, commuters heading into town, holiday makers for shopping or a beer with friends. I make my way to the back hoping to find a seat but end up strap-hanging right in the back corner as the bus labours and roars onward.
It lurches to a stop, passengers push to the door, new riders climb on, everyone reshuffles inside, tighter. I’m pushed further into my corner, strange bodies all around me. I look at each of them; the old guy, worldly and cynical, the couple, already starting to pick at each other, the young girls, excited and optimistic. The single guy, tanned, well muscled but not overbuilt, slim hips. And the deepest blue eyes surrounded by crinkles caused by smiling. Not the cold arctic blue of the north, but the blue-green of the tropical ocean, deep and warm enough to dive into. He’s so close I can smell him. A slight salty tang of fresh sweat in the heat, a hint of clean fresh citrus and wood aftershave, and underneath something more feral and masculine.
Suddenly in my mind’s eye he’s naked. He’s on his back on a bed. I’m invisible – he doesn’t know I can see him. His penis is big, erect, purple with blood. His right hand grasps it, his left cups his balls. Up and down rhythmically, smoothly, firmly, not fast. At the top of each stroke, as his fingers pull his skin over the head, I can see his buttocks clench involuntarily, at the bottom of the stroke I watch his hips rise and push against the pressure of his hand. His jaw is tense, his mouth open, eyes closed, his lips red. I can see a rapid pulse in his neck and a bead of sweat runs down his collarbone. I feel something hungry stir inside me.
The bus clambers over a speed-bump. Everyone rocks with the motion and I jolt back from my daydream. I am pushed against him, closer to that intoxicating smell. My breasts press into his back, my pelvis brushes against the back of his hand. My nipples respond to his scent, the accidental pressure of his knuckles against my groin. A warm thrill spreads across my belly.
More people clamber aboard. It’s really crowded now and I have to hold onto the roof rail to keep my balance as the vehicle sways. One arm raised high, lifting my breast, the other pinned to my side by the crush. In amongst the press of bodies I think I feel a finger sliding against me. Slowly, awkwardly because of the crush, it moves across the front of my thin cotton skirt. It traces the lace trim of my panties at the top of my thigh. I look around but he’s staring ahead through the window. The finger slides slowly, unstoppably, intimately downward. Then, as if it is all a mistake, an accident because of the crush, or my imagination, it reverses direction and retreats.
I turn a little, as much as the space allows, inviting it, wanting it to return. Anonymously, in public, amongst 50 people, it creeps back down again, sliding across the fabric of my skirt towards my cunt. My body responds, primitive, basic, sexual, slickly preparing. My mind spins from embarrassment and excitement. With infinite caution the hand moves lower, down over my thigh towards the hem of my skirt. I feel it being lifted higher, higher still until the sopping gusset of my panties is exposed. Only the crush of people prevents anyone from seeing my arousal. Only the perfume, cigarettes, food and sweat prevent them from smelling it.
I catch my breath and bite my lip as wave after wave of illicit excitement courses through me. The old man standing further up the bus watches me, catching my eye over the shoulders of the other passengers. His piercing, suspicious stare excites me. Does he know? I imagine lifting my skirt for the old man, right there, on the bus. My cunt muscles clench in an involuntary spasm as an unexpected, uncontrollable rush of pleasure radiates from deep in my belly. Then two fingers tentatively start to explore the wet filmy triangle of silk