by Laurel Adams
CONTENTS
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
Part Two
DEAR READERS
ABOUT LAUREL ADAMS
STRANGER DANGER
Part Two
Laurel Adams
Stranger Danger
Copyright © 2014 Laurel Adams
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
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.
As I felt him slide in and out of me, I dug my nails into his shoulders. "Are you going to explode on my cock? Are you going to come again?" he asked in my ear, and that's all I needed to hear as stars flooded my vision and I gasped for air, bucking wildly through my orgasm.
It was never this easy for me to come.
Maybe I'd been drugged.
I couldn't explain it.
But just as I finished my silent scream of ecstasy, he stilled. We both realized with alarm that the bus was coming to a station. He hadn't finished; we were going to get caught. As we heard the sounds of the brakes, I started to panic, but he put his finger over my lips to shush me. "Take your clothes in your arm under the coat,” he said, buttoning my coat down the front, helping me up onto shaking legs, and giving me a little nudge out into the aisle. “Now go back to your seat, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? I stood there, bewildered, holding my clothes in one hand. He'd used a term of endearment for me. I wasn't even sure what to think of that. It confused everything even more. Surely he didn't think this was anything but the sleaziest of hookups. Then a worse possibility occurred to me. He said it because it was the sleaziest of hookups. It was a kiss off. The last thing you say to a slutty chick you got to suck and fuck and aren't ever going to see again. For a brief moment, I had convinced myself that something was happening between us, but now he was done with me. He didn't know my name, didn't want to, and would probably use the encounter as wank material for years. I could only imagine what he would say to his friends whenever he got to where he was going...since he kept my torn panties as a souvenir.
I gave him one last look, then slowly made my way back to my seat. I was so humiliated, I didn't think I could stand it. As the bus pulled into the station, I slid back into my chair a few rows up. I opened my bag and tucked my clothes into it, pulling my coat tighter around my naked form. The bus came to a stop. The lights came on, blinding me, and disturbing most of the passengers. There seemed to be a collective groan from the tired people on the bus.
"Syracuse! Two hour layover," the driver announced.
It was a miserable place to stop. It was three in the morning, and the chairs in the terminal were hard plastic. I'd been here a few times before. People wanted to rest. But we had to get off the bus. Maybe that was for the best, because I needed to get away from the guy I'd just banged. I needed to get away from him before I did anything stupider.
I'd come on his cock, and my whole body was still vibrating with the pleasure of it, but I needed to get away from him. I needed never to see him again. I needed to get dressed, get on a different bus, and get away. So the moment the bus doors opened, I grabbed my bag, ran a hand through my sweat-damp hair, and bolted.
~~~
I practically ran through the terminal heading for the bathroom to put my clothes back on. I felt oddly hollow and alone, and I wiped my eyes clear of the tears that had gathered there. I needed to get away.
But, to my astonishment, he was on my heels. He'd somehow zipped up, gathered his things, and apparently chased me across the parking lot and into the building. I heard his sneakers thunk hard against the bus terminal floor behind me, but dared not look back.
As soon as I reached out for the handle of the bathroom door, his hand was on mine. We crashed into the bathroom together, and he spun me to face him...and I was so unexpectedly happy, so filled with relief, that I threw my arms around his neck.
I kissed him hard, steaming up his glasses, as he lifted me up by the hips and latched the door behind him. Then he walked me over to the countertop and lifted me up onto it.
"I'm not finished," he said to me, in a normal voice. It was the first time I'd heard him speak above a whisper, and it slayed me. I loved the Boston accent. The clipped precision of it. The roguish grin. "And since you're still naked under your coat, it'll be easier this time."
I didn't even know him, but in that moment, I thought I loved him. Which was maybe even more disloyal to my boyfriend than fucking a stranger. I was thinking about my guilt when the stranger pushed me back against the mirror, then positioned me for his still hard cock. "Oh god," I moaned, trying to stop him. "Not here! Someone's going to catch us."
He grabbed my hair at the base of my neck and, stepping between my thighs, he shook his head with exasperation. "No more of that game. Don't fight me now. I won't be gentle if you do."
All protest evaporated. I just spread my thighs around him and was rewarded by a long hard thrust that made me cry out.
"Put your arms around my neck," he said.
I reached up around his neck and let him cup my ass while pumping wildly inside me.
It felt so good. Better, I was sure, than any sex had ever felt with anyone else, ever. I cried out in his ear with every thrust, not minding how hard he banged me into the countertop. Both his bag and mine had dropped to the floor in the heated rush, and I let my head fall back as he bit my neck and growled. My stomach clenched and dropped out from underneath. I couldn't come again this fast. I just couldn't.
How
could this be happening?
I cried out by his ear. He fucked me right through another orgasm.
People had filed off the bus by now and had to use the bathroom. We heard knocking, but we couldn't stop. And I couldn't hold in the noises. No doubt, whoever was outside that door could hear exactly what was going on as the slapping noises grew more urgent.
I'd never been fucked so hard before and it hurt.
My whole body jostled with every thrust.
The stranger's fingers tightened in my hair as he started to ejaculate, making me crazy with frustration and elation. I was on the pill, so I wished he hadn't been wearing a condom. I wanted to feel the rush of his hot cream spurting up inside me until it felt like someone had turned a faucet into my pussy. I told him that, and it drove him over the edge. The knocking grew more urgent, but he leaned over me and let himself experience the waves, pushing far inside me for each spurt.
His lips pressed against my forehead as he finished.
He laughed. Then I laughed and kissed the base of his neck.
The knocking on the bathroom door became a pounding.
The stranger put himself back into his pants, buttoned up my coat and scooped me off of the counter onto my feet. Outside the bathroom door, someone swore at us in Spanish. Oh god! How was I going to face anyone outside that door?
He picked up my bag and his own, then put his hand on my lower back as if he were the most courteous gentleman. As if sensing my terror, he said, "Just don't look them in the eye."
As if I could! My eyes were locked on the floor, and when he unlatched the door, he guided me out of the bathroom through the irritated crowd that had gathered outside.
Slut, someone hissed at me.
Puta.
Someone else giggled.
The stranger just kept pushing me forward and away from them. If I'd given it any thought, I'd realize that the same stranger who was gently guiding me through the crowd to safety was the same man that had brought me to such ruin and humiliation. But all I felt at that moment was that he was my protector and savior. He carried both our bags.