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DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story engage in some risky behavior and make some questionable decisions; it should go without saying that this behavior is not to be encouraged in real life. But that's the beauty of fiction; they can do this, and we can enjoy thinking about them doing it, without anyone getting hurt.
Also, please keep an eye out for the next story in the series, so you can enjoy the continued adventures. In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt from Stranger Danger.
EXCERPT
STRANGER DANGER
Laurel Adams
~~~
Semen seeped into the crotch of my panties as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep on the midnight bus back to college. On that dark and chilly fall morning, my wetness was my naughty secret, a reminder of my marathon orgasm session with my boyfriend and our mad-dash fucking session before leaving to catch the last bus out. It'd been risky. I'd just barely pulled my jeans on when my parents came upstairs to help me with my bags.
But I loved risky sex. Going down on him in a movie theatre. Sexting in the middle of class. It made my boyfriend nervous, but I couldn't help myself. He was my high school sweetheart—a really nice guy—and I really tried to be a nice girl.
But it took effort.
As the nearly empty bus rumbled out of town, I could still feel my boyfriend's hands on me. I tried to ignore the buzz of arousal, but my mind kept replaying pictures in my head. Sex on the floor. Sex over the bathroom counter. Sex with me on top. Sex fully clothed, my jeans barely pulled down. The more the memories flickered in my mind the more intense the fluttering between my legs.
I wanted to come again. Needed to.
Biting my lower lip, I looked around me. The bus was quiet; I was one of only a handful of passengers and none of them were seated near me. The only ones I could see were sleeping. It seemed safe enough to bring myself off.
I knew what I was about to do was lewd, risky and highly inappropriate, but, that only made me want it more. With my wool coat draped over me, I carefully unbuttoned my jeans and slid my hand into my panties. I was so hot and sticky that I let out a soft hiss of relief at my own touch—too soft to be heard, I hoped. My clit was engorged and slippery, and I shifted in my seat to allow my hand more room. I smeared the slickness of my boyfriend's cum all over my pussy lips and let my fingers circle and pinch at the hood.
I was close, so close. Just a little bit more and I'd go over the edge.
It felt so good that when the bus pulled into the next station, I didn't stop. I felt the lurch of the brakes, but didn't stop. Heard the hiss of the door, and stifled a moan. It wasn't until a shadow fell across my seat that I grew still.
Fuck. A new passenger had gotten on the bus. Peeking through my lowered eyelashes, I could see that it was a man, older than I was. He had a backpack and a philosophy book in one hand. And though there were plenty of empty seats the bastard just had to take the seat across the aisle from me.
He'd ruined my naughty adventure. I hated him. And his stupid philosophy book, too.
He threw his bag into the seat, took off a pair of black rimmed glasses, then closed his eyes. He wasn't bad looking for a killjoy and an older guy. You just think so because you're horny. And I was impossibly horny.
I'd been so close to coming that every part of me was throbbing with need. The temptation to finger myself was more than I could stand. I was eighteen—that age you think you can get away with everything—and once the bus was on the road again, quiet and dark, I decided to risk it.
I admit, there was an added thrill to my fingers trailing lazy circles over my clit with a stranger so close. But hidden by my coat and rubbing ever so slowly, I began to relax into the knowledge I was going to get away with it. The stranger across the aisle would never know. It would be my filthy little secret. And I was loving every moment. It felt so good, and yet, it was torture. My pulse was quickening, and I tried to steady my breathing. But with only the slightest of movements on my part, I might hover here in arousal indefinitely.
Then the stranger's eyes opened, and in the shadows, he looked over my way. My heart stopped. I saw him through half-lidded eyes, and I thought his gaze lingered just a moment too long. I grew perfectly still, and pretended to be asleep. I listened to the whir of the wheels of the bus, the coughs of an old man from the back, and the cries of a baby from somewhere toward the front of the bus while we traveled.
Finally, he looked away.
We were on the highway now, and the streetlights flashed by at regular intervals. I still wanted desperately to come, and that was evidenced by the fact that my slickness, combined with my boyfriend's semen, had now soaked through my jeans, leaving a wet spot between my legs. It made me desperate.
Maybe it was this desperation that clouded my already shaky judgment.
I started rubbing faster, harder, needing more intense contact. I could hear my heartbeat racing, but I was purposefully keeping my breathing steady, or trying to. The bus was now abnormally quiet, and though a light mist of perspiration dotted the back of my neck under the strain of trying to come so perfectly still and quiet. I was close, oh, so close again.
But so was the stranger. I don't know what made me open my eyes. But when I did, the stranger was staring right at me through the semi-darkness. I froze. I casually closed my eyes again for a moment or two, and then opened them just in case it had been a mistake.
It wasn't.
He had the most intense stare I'd ever seen. Not vacant. No, it spoke volumes.