Part Two
What was I doing? What was happening to me?
Those were the questions I asked myself in the tiny bathroom of a moving bus after having sucked off a perfect stranger. I could still taste him. And I was so confused that I started to cry. I'd always liked risky sex, but I'd never done anything like this before.
My boyfriend's semen was soaking my panties, a stranger's semen was coating my tongue and I felt sluttier than I ever had in my life.
Dazed, I'd stumbled here, up the aisle of a darkened cross-country bus, where a few passengers snoozed in their seats. I'd done it because the stranger had told me to go into the bathroom and take off all my clothes except for my coat, but now I was sniffling and crying in shame.
My will had been weak. I just had to get myself together and get my things and go to the front of the bus where the stranger couldn't bother me. Then I'd never see him again, and I'd forget this ever happened.
But then I looked at myself in the mirror and got the shock of my life. I wasn't normally vain. In fact, I was usually insecure about my looks. But at that moment, my eyes were wide and radiant. My face had a passionate lustful glow. I couldn't explain it. But I was momentarily enraptured by my own image. In this heated state, I was transformed. The stranger had become my partner in risky business and somehow he had transformed me. And though all of this was wrong, I wanted to know what he'd do next.
He was a bastard, and I wanted him.
Maybe I wanted him because he was a bastard.
The stranger dared. He dared, and he wouldn't stop, and wouldn't let me stop. I needed him for that. So I stepped out of my clothes, folding them neatly. My thighs trembled. My fingers trembled. I actually had to stop and lean back against the door and touch myself some more just to take the edge off of my madness. I took off everything but my soaked panties and my shoes. Somehow, they made me feel a little more steady. Then I put my coat back on over my bare flesh. I cautiously peeked out the door of the bathroom before exiting it to walk back to our seat. But before I could take another step I was grabbed from behind.
The stranger was on me, his hand on my mouth so I wouldn't scream. Startled, I dropped my clothes into the aisle, and he had to stop to grab them. Once he did, he threw me down into the back seat—the longest seat at the back of the bus that's flat like a bed.
Before I could protest, he crawled on me, one leg on the floor, one on the seat, splaying my legs and pushing his hands up under my coat. His actions bespoke of a scarcely controlled lust on his part that was intoxicating. He made me feel overwhelmed—touched everywhere and overcome. The heat of this encounter. The wrongness of it. The anonymity. The baseness. It all swirled in my head for an erotic electric charge. But somehow I was in no way prepared for him to say, "Now it's time for you to get fucked."
I'd been prepared to give him another blow job. The best blow job I'd ever given. I thought we could get away with it; the roar of the bus engine was loud, and there were snores from other parts of the bus. What's more, from this seat, in the shadows, no one would see us unless they came up the aisle to go to the bathroom. It was also easy to see if someone approached. So I wouldn't have minded fooling around some more. Touching, and kissing, and stroking.
But I hadn't ever intended to let him fuck me!
Maybe it was because I was still eighteen. Boys I dated didn't expect sex, they were grateful for it. If you wanted to tease them for hours, making out, without bringing them off, they rarely complained. But this man in his twenties. Maybe even older than that. He was different. It had apparently never occurred to him that he wouldn't fuck me. And so he seemed shocked when I shook my head vehemently. "I can't. I can't. I have a boyfriend."
He stared at me, hard, his fingers gripping my arms. "You had a boyfriend when you let me play with your tits and stick my cock in your mouth, too, but you liked it. You wanted it, didn't you?"
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. "But I can't go all the way..."
"Yes you can. I think you're the kind of girl who would love to get fucked by a stranger in the back of a bus...so put the condom on me."
I saw he had a foil package in his hand, and everything suddenly became very real. My hands shoved at his chest. "I said no and this time I mean it.”
"And you'll probably keep on saying no and keep thinking you mean it until it makes you come. But you'll always get off if you do what I tell you to. So put the condom on me."
Was he going to force me?
I could have screamed for help. I could have kicked him—he didn't look so strong that I couldn't have gotten away. But those eyes, and the way he looked at me, put a desire in me that defied all logic. I felt drugged on the taboo of obeying him. I had to know what it would be like. So with trembling fingers, I found myself rolling the condom down his shaft.
"Now open your legs," he whispered.
Shaking like a leaf, I slowly spread my legs. He'd told me to take off my panties, but I hadn't been able to do it. Seeing them now, he cursed, and unexpectedly ripped the panties right off my body. I yelped with horrified surprise.
He said, “You need to be punished for that."
Then, as if it were the most normal thing to do in the world, he pushed the wet crotch of the torn panties into my mouth. The way he assumed dominion over me was mind-bending. I could taste my own wetness on the cloth. I could taste my boyfriend's semen. And my mouth still tasted of the seed he'd made me swallow.
I watched as this stranger summarily pushed my thighs even further apart, and started probing my cunt with his cockhead. Then I turned my head and spit the panties out on the floor. He looked at me as if waiting for me to scream. And I wanted to. But his hesitation told me that he wasn’t going to rape me; he also wasn't going to stop unless I screamed.
I had to scream. Then we both realized that I wasn't going to.
But as he held me down by the arm and hip, I did struggle.
Perhaps, in retrospect, I should admit for honesty's sake that I struggled only enough to be able to claim I struggled. If I ever had to explain what happened to my boyfriend, I didn't want to think it was my fault. But I wanted the stranger so badly, I was afraid he would let me get away.
Fortunately, there wasn't a chance of that. He was fit, and strong, and I was already so slippery that he was able to slide his cock between my pussy lips with just a little leverage. But the position was so awkward that he wasn't able to get all the way inside me. I knew the right angle for my hips, I just wouldn't do it for him.
He glared. "Open up to me.”
I could hear the quiver in my voice as a hot tear slipped off my cheek and I began to bargain, "I can't. I'll do anything else you want but this. I don't want to—"
"You want to be fucked. You're just afraid. But I'm going to make it easy for you," he coaxed, now talking to me as if I were a child. He started applying
pressure to my hips with his hand, trying to force me to angle the right way. "So easy. All you have to do is not make any noise, and I'll force it in."
He said it as if he was doing me a favor. And in some twisted way, I knew he was.
"Tell me to stop and I will. Otherwise I'm going to fuck you."
The word stop hovered at my lips, but I couldn't say it. I didn't want to be a cheating whore. I needed him to fuck me, but I needed not to let him fuck me. He yanked me toward the edge of the seat by my hips, and pressed against me painfully, fingers digging hard into my hips. I whimpered with the pain, and my hands clenched around the fabric of the seat. I did try to clamp my thighs shut, but they just clamped around his hips.
"It's all right, I'll make you do it. It's all right, it's all right," he said, as if taming a wild animal. He was using all his strength to fight and position me, and I was shaking with the effort to stop him without making any noise.
I wanted him to force me. So I fought him. My muscles were tight and sore as he jabbed against me with the bulbous knob of his cockhead. It was a searing sensation. But I writhed so that he couldn't get into me. "C'mon," he finally grunted, pushing hard with his own hips, trying to push into me.
He was going to fuck me. I knew it and started to moan. His grip on my hip was hard enough to bruise now, and he gave me one more yank, which splayed my thighs in just the right way to open the entrance to my cunt. Oh the shuddering groan he let out into my ear when he felt himself penetrate me just an inch. It was both a literal and symbolic victory.
I let out a sob. I cried from relief. The sheer relief of being spread by him, turgid and determined, was making me more and more pliant to whatever he wanted to do to me. It was a decisive victory. All my tensed muscles relaxed. But he didn't start pumping away. Instead, he touched his forehead to mine. He grew still for a moment, the way men do when they don't want to come too fast.
"You're so hot inside," he whispered, gently, almost tenderly.
In truth, I felt molten. My cunt muscles clenched around him, trying to draw him deeper inside me. He still held me hard by the arm and by the hip, but there was no fight left in me at all. All that was over. I was now a completely willing, eager, participant. I tried to scoot my ass forward now, arching to him, trying to get him further into me. It was more than surrender. The pleasure spread like hot syrup from my cunt to my tongue—a hot sweetness. I'd never been like this before. Not with anyone. I was sore. It should have been enough. I shouldn't have had any more lust in me. But I did.
"That's it, baby. Take my cock," he said, thrusting deep.
When he did, I started to squeak in his ear with pleasure. That encouraged him, until his strokes became wild. He was trying to get as deep as he could. He strained and broke out into perspiration, as he whispered to me how good my cunt felt to him. He bit my shoulder. We both lost control over all the sounds we were making and our panting breaths steamed up the back window.