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

Babes

“Direct strokes she never gave us power to make; all our blows glance, all our hits are accidents. Our relations to others are oblique and casual.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Experience” Selected Writings

***

I hate my car. My car hates me. So, thanks to my inability to have my oil checked on time and my blatant disregard for all things automotive, I have to take the bus to work while my stupid car is at the mechanic for a week.

Now that you know that, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Carmen. I’ve always been a spoiled only child. My parents drove me to school when I was young, and at sixteen, I scored a gently used Mustang convertible. Then, when I finished grad school, my parents replaced it with a brand new Thunderbird convertible. The one I used to claim I loved.

I’d only been on tour buses with my high school choir, so public transportation was foreign to me. I live about twelve miles from the university where I’m simultaneously teaching and working towards my PhD, so I wasn’t expecting anything dramatic to happen on a half-hour bus trip. And it was only for five days, so that only amounted to about five hours. Five hours and counting.

I waited at the bus stop with two other gentlemen who were carrying briefcases. The younger man kept leering my direction. Self conscious, I held my own briefcase closer to me, hoping that it covered most of my exposed legs. I had chosen a brown tweed skirt that just skimmed the tops of my knees and a thin white button down. The heat of that early fall morning precluded the use of my jacket, which I had slung over my arm, and my apartment had been too sticky to even consider stockings. My tortoiseshell glasses kept slipping down my nose, and my brown crocodile heels were pinching my toes. I also felt little rivulets of sweat gathering in the valley of my breasts where my lacey bra was chafing my skin. I was silently cursing Henry Ford, Victoria’s Secret, and Manolo Blahnik all at once.

Finally, my bus rumbled to a stop in front of me. I breathed a sigh of relief; finally I could sit in air conditioning. I embarked on the bus. I almost burst into tears. People where standing! Everywhere! After the initial shock, I felt the butt of a briefcase nudged into my back, so I was forced to shoulder my way onto the crowded (and hot) bus. I made it back to the middle of the bus, where I tried to brace my feet apart as demurely as I could as not to fall, while I tried to hang onto my briefcase, jacket, and a hanging nylon loop in the ceiling.

The bus lurched forward, sending everyone forward a step. As I was inexperienced, I stumbled a few more steps, losing my glasses in the process. As I tried to hang on and reach for them, a large male hand reached down and plucked them from the dirty floor just before the man in front of me trampled on them. I followed the large hand up muscular arm that was covered in dark hair. At the elbow, the man had rolled up his flannel shirtsleeve. Beyond that, his bicep rippled. And then a broad shoulder. And then a firm, strong jaw, dotted with a days beard growth. And a gentle grin. And a Roman nose. And blue BLUE eyes. Smiling blue eyes. His hair was black and wildly curly. He managed to look cool standing there next to me, even in flannel.

Blue Eyes chuckled and pushed my glasses into a free pocket of my briefcase. “You don’t need ‘em. I’ll see for you,” he said, his voice deep and rough, like the growl of a fenced in dog, yet with a gentle laughter that must make even the iciest heart melt. This guy was trouble.

“Thank you, sir. I think I’ll try to manage on my own.” I smiled and looked straight ahead.

The bus made a hard right and the seasoned passengers shifted with it, balancing gracefully. Once again, I stumbled. This time right into Blue Eyes. He caught me before I could fall into the elderly woman seated to my right. His hands seemed even larger, his palms touching the soft roundness of my hips and his fingers clutching gently at my narrow hip bones. At his touch, my torso hummed. For the barest of moments, my back pressed into his chest. Even then, I could feel the hard plane of his belly and firm curve of his pectorals. I almost forgot to breath. As soon as it happened, he released me. As soon as I was clutching the nylon strap again, he bent to my ear, “On your own, huh?” he whispered then laughed again. I blushed a deep fuchsia.

The bus started to empty over the next few blocks. I chose a seat and Blue Eyes sat next to me. I modestly placed my briefcase in my lap to hide my exposed knees from view.

Blue Eyes leaned close to me again. bahis firmaları He smelled of some sort of clean deodorant soap. Like the woods, only soapier. I looked at him, his face was only inches from mine. He smiled again. It was a broad, toothy smile that spoke of kindness rather than of lechery. I was still wary. “No need to cover ‘em up, darlin’. Your shape will be forever burned into my mind.”

Before I could reply, he reached across me and over my head to tug the stop signal. He was up and off of the bus before I could work up any considerable anger.

After I finally disembarked, I stewed the rest of the day. By the time I was ready to return home, I was ready with a few choice phrases to blast the groper with. He wasn’t on the bus, however.

I huffed all the way through my solitary dinner and through the senseless movie on TV that evening. By the time I was in my office, grading undergrad papers on As You Like It, I had begun to wonder about Blue Eyes. What sort of work did he do that he was in the city dressed like a lumberjack. I snorted at the image of him manually sawing down trees in the park. Of him bent over, rivers of sweat pouring down his back. Enough to make him remove the hot flannel… I had to shake my head to clear the image. I looked at the paper I was grading. I had written, “Nice work. Your commentary on Oliver and Orlando is shirtless.” I blushed and hurriedly scratched out my mistake. I laid my pen down and stood.

I needed a shower. Something to relax me and help me get over my trying experience. That was it, I though, it had nothing to do with the man. It was just the newness of the bus. Tomorrow would be better. After my shower, I felt refreshed, if not relaxed. I climbed into my heirloom four poster, trying not to concentrate on my still screaming nerves, especially the bunch packed into my loins. Finally I gave over to temptation and reached for the vibrator in my bedside table drawer. I put it on the lowest setting and caressed my taut nipples until I was ready to burst. I moved the toy down my belly gently, teasing my sensitive skin until I was covered in gooseflesh. I placed the tip of the toy against the moist opening to my cunt. I moaned aloud at the instant pleasure. Images began to run through my head. I was bent over a counter, pounded from behind. I worked the tool faster over my hot spot. The man was faceless. He was pulling and pinching my nipples. I was pounding into him as fast as he was into me. The vibrator was pounding into my pussy with the same intense speed. My mind had the man rub my clit, so I rubbed mine with my free hand. My hips started bucking uncontrollably to the images in my head. Finally the man’s face came into view. It was Blue Eyes. As I realized this, I started to come. I dripped hot and wet all over my vibrator and working fingers. I turned the tool off, still shaking from my orgasm. I was breathless again. I fell asleep with it still in my hand.

***

The next morning I chose my wardrobe carefully. I wore a simple black skirt suit and a lacy white slip top underneath the short, slim one-button blazer. The skirt was slim fitting and hit about mid thigh. I knew I’d garner some glances at school, but I as looking for one target in particular: Blue Eyes. I’ve never wanted a man the way I wanted him, and I don’t even know why. I’ve known plenty of handsome men, and my type was usually bookish, well-educated philosopher types. But… this was new. I was eager getting onto the bus that day. Only to be disappointed. He was no where to be seen.

The same went for the return trip, and the rest of the week. By Friday afternoon, I’d given up hope. Friday I wore snug jeans and red button down shirt. I added a slim black corduroy blazer to fend off the chill that was settling in. I allowed my long, brunette hair to tumble down over my shoulders, but kept my glasses.

I was finally used to the jostling and jarring of the bus… and to shouldering through crowds to get on and off. I stayed on the bus beyond my stop because I was traveling to the mechanics to pick up my car. It was nearing five o’clock when I disembarked from the bus for the final time. I rushed into the mechanic’s office, hoping I wasn’t too late. The garage door had already been pulled. I breathed a sigh of relief when I opened the door and saw a figure seated at the desk. His head poked out above the top of the comfy looking desk chair. The figure was talking on the phone, the cord was pulled taught around the chair. Unsure of whether I should interrupt, I cleared my throat and backed up. The figure didn’t turn, but kaçak iddaa raised one finger. I looked around the office. It was remarkably neat, the walls lined with awards for excellence and with framed photographs of people and cars. Shelves held file folders, manuals, and various bric-a-brac. A cabinet hung ajar. I could see that it held numerous sets of keys. The desk held a phone and some papers. I listened as he finished his muffled conversation.

“I know. I made the payment. It’s mine now,” he paused. “Yeah… I’ll be over later to celebrate. I just got one more customer here to pick ‘is car up. Later, Buddy.” The mechanic turned the chair to face me. His blue eyes widened in shock. I stumbled backwards into the glass wall that separated the office from the garage.

“You” I said at almost a whisper.

He recovered first. His left eyebrow lifted, “And you” he replied. “You’re the 2004 Merlot Thunderbird Convertible? V8 with SST and seventeen inch wheels?!”

I nodded. It was all I could do.

“I figured Carmen was some poindexter midlifer with no hair.”

I remained silent.

“Not that I’m not happy it’s you.” He smiled, and stood. He filled the room. He seemed larger than he had the day they met. I stepped back, only to find myself pressed against the glass wall. He either didn’t notice or pretended not to. He simply turned to the open cabinet and plucked my keys out. He tossed them to me. I’m amazed that I caught them. He walked past me and opened to door to the garage. My car sat there, looking freshly waxed. Blue Eyes ran one hand along the soft top. “Gorgeous” he murmured.

“I like it, too.” I squeaked.

“I meant you,” he tossed back easily. “Hell of a job you did on the tranny. You have Select Touch… you really need to be careful. Maybe someone needs to teach you how to drive a stick.”

“I’ve only driven manual, thankyouverymuch!” I said heatedly. “This select thingy throws me off. It’s not the same.”

“That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it,” he said, moving away from the car. As he neared me, my senses heightened. I smelled the oil on the floor, felt the vibration from the generator, tasted the grittiness of the air. And, what’s more, I felt hot all over despite the air conditioned coolness of the garage. I didn’t back up, though. I felt rooted to the floor. He reached me and plucked the keys from my hand. He shoved them into his jeans pocket. I started to protest but he placed a finger over my lips. He smiled and before I could blink, he’d replaced his hand with his lips. His arms quickly went around me, his left hand cradling my head, his right possessively perched on my hip. I tilted into him before I had a chance to think to refuse. My lips parted and his tongue plundered my open mouth. I moaned against him, moving closer. My hands went to his hair, my fingers raking his scalp, tangling in his curls. He backed me into a table and, without breaking contact, lifted me onto it. He pushed himself between my legs and I wrapped myself around him, pulling him closer. I was so hot, my mind forgot to protest. I needed more.

I let go of his hair and started working at the buttons of his shirt. He pushed my hands away and stripped himself of his shirt, barely breaking our kiss. My hands roved the sturdy planes of his chest and back. My fingers found his taut nipples and rolled and plucked at them. My hands kneaded and worked the supple muscle of his back. His hands began a journey of their own. He divested me of the thick blazer and palmed my heavy breast through the thin fabric of my shirt. His thumb barely brushed my nipple and it stood at attention. I leaned back, breaking our kiss.

He stopped his ministrations and searched my face for any signs of misgivings. I smiled wickedly and pulled my shirt over my head. My bra followed. His smile matched mine. I saw it seconds before he dipped his head to suckle my waiting nipple. I let my head fall back. While he licked and nipped on one nipple, his fingers twirled and fondled the other. I was in heaven. The world had no edges; everything was muted, in soft focus.

He kissed his way up my chest to my neck, nibbling and sucking. He worked my sensitive earlobe. His whispered husky voice sent shivers down my spine. “I want you… and if…” I cut him off by pulling his chin up and giving him a slow, tantalizing kiss. He pulled away with a moan, “You’re going to be the death of me… I can tell,” he said as he lifted me into his strong, capable arms. He carried me to the office and sat my on the soft chair. In one motion, everything that was on the desk was scattered kaçak bahis on the floor. He lifted me up again and laid me down on the desk. He gave me another smile and undid the buttons of my jeans. I watched disconnected as the denim slid down my long, tan legs. My mind was somewhere else, my body running on instinct alone. I reached for his waistband, but he stopped me, smiling devilishly at me. My skimpy thong followed my jeans to the floor.

I watched as his head dipped to the apex of my thighs. I braced myself for the pleasure, but he surprised me. He kissed below my belly button, and further southward to the crease of my pubis. He then navigated to the right, kissing the creamy inside of my thigh. He licked and nibbled as though I were a delicate desert. I almost screamed from the sweet torture. He moved to my other thigh and worked his way up to the intersection of my thighs. I was dripping onto the desk by now, writhing in passionate anticipation. Finally, he dipped his head again, this time to lay his tongue on the most sensitive bundle of nerves in my body. He laved my clit; he caressed the folds of my sex with his tongue. He delved his two meaty fingers deep into my cunt, bending and gesturing until he found the other most sensitivity within me. He pounded his fingers into me; I pounded back, wildly bucking my hips onto his hand. I was slippery and blind with excitement. I sensed rather than felt him come up near my face. His voice was deeper now, huskier. “Now,” was all he said. I did. I spiraled into myself, my insides bursting like a million fireworks.

Before my waves of passion had subsided, he was standing in between my thighs, looking at me, searching my face. I shook my head no. He looked as though I had ripped his heart out. I smiled and slid down off of the desk, feeling my own dampness on my ass.

He stood, crestfallen. I took his hand and pulled him close to me. I rose onto my tiptoes, “Like this,” I said. I turned and bent over the glossy metal desk. My ass wiggled promisingly at him, my juices still flowing down my legs. I heard him groan. I felt him come up behind me. I felt the head of his shaft press against my pink folds. I spread my legs a little wider, not knowing what to expect. I leant down on my forearms, straightening my back.

I finally felt him enter me. He was long and thick, filling me to what felt like the maximum. I stretched around him, my pussy muscles fighting the intrusion. He placed his large hands on my hips and slowly pulled out, almost leaving me, then shoving my tight cunt back onto his cock. I cried out, the pleasure and pain fusing. I sensed his smile as he leaned down close to my ear. I felt the vibration of his throat on my shoulder as he said, “Hold on, little darlin’, I ain’t gonna go easy after that tease.” I smiled, a held the far side of the desk. My tits were mashed into the still warm desk, making me feel almost as though I was bound there.

True to his word, he thrust with all his might, working his hard cock in and out of my tight hole. Once I was used to his size and girth, I began pounding back. He reached down to lubricate his finger in my creamy juices. He rubbed his finger over my puckered asshole, gently at first. I moaned my pleasure and reached around to gently massage his balls, allowing my finger to slide over the crease from his asshole to the base of his prick. He showed his appreciated by pounding me harder. He grasped my shoulder and pulled me to him as close as we could get. My tits bounced on the desk, my nipples firm. His ministrations of my ass grew more attentive and finally he allowed his finger to enter me. I squealed in surprise and delight, and I felt my pussy muscles clamp around him. He worked his finger in and out with increasing speed and rammed my pussy with the same tempo. Soon, I could take no more. I shook with my second orgasm as waves of pleasure washed over me. I moaned and writhed. I shrieked and shouted.

He pulled his finger of me and again embraced my hips. His grip was bonecrushing and he pumped in and out of me.

I heard him curse, then moan. I felt the first spurt of cum deep into my womb. My pussy milked at his cock, begging him for more. He pulled himself out of me and felt more of him splash onto my spent asshole and my back. I shuddered, enjoying how he’d used me and given me so much. I sagged against the desk, enjoying the coolness it now emanated.

***

“Carmen?” a questioning voice came.

“Yeah?”

“Here are your keys,” he said, jingling them.

I woke up, wrapped in a worn but clean blanket. I don’t know how long I’d been asleep.

I sat up, still wrapped in the blanket. Blue Eyes stood there, a towel around his waist. He smiled down at me, holding the keys.

I smiled back, “Oh, I think I’ll take the bus.”

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

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.