Read an Excerpt
Six o’clock in the morning is not a good time to be up and about any time of the year, but in the winter, it is just plain miserable. It’s dark, cold and today it was raining, what a fantastic way to start the day, eh?
Living at home whilst commuting to university had seemed such a fantastic idea when I’d made the decision. It’s only a couple of buses, I’d thought and it would save me a lot of money, and really and truthfully, that was the only way I’d be able to do university at all. I had to work to pay the tuition fees, and I’d not have time to study if I had to work to cover rent, too.
So hence, the six a.m. at the bus stop started. I needed to get into Manchester at seven-thirty to do a couple hours in the newsagents before lectures, and I had to get two buses, the first of which due at five to six but was barely ever on time.
That day it was late, and I was cold and wet. My umbrella was fine, and my waterproof was waterproof, but the wind drove droplets into my face and against my exposed legs, and the impervious items just weren’t really working right. I told myself for the hundredth time that I needed to buy some new tights. I’d laddered those I’d gotten in September, and for the last couple of weeks, I’d had to do without them. I was just loath to spend more money on those horrid torture devices, and I was hoping to see signs of spring soon. February had not obliged up until that point.
The bus finally pulled in, and I leapt on eagerly. The young driver smiled lazily as I flashed my soggy pass.
“A bit wet, eh?” He grinned, his eyes travelling down to my soaked legs.
“You could say that,” I blushed, “and it doesn’t help when the bus is late.”
“Sorry.” His stubbled cheeks turned a little pink and his conker-dark eyes shone as he shrugged. “I was a little late getting in this morning.”
He pulled shut the doors with a swoosh and his engine rumbled louder. I walked to the front seats and sat down behind the driver’s cab and the stairway. Wow, he’s bloody good looking, I thought to myself. Well, as bus drivers go anyway and much younger than the usual guy who’d never once said a word to me in all the time he’d driven the bus. I really hoped this new guy would become a regular on this route.
My cold legs started to tingle as the circulation came back, and I bent down to rub them, to make them warmer. I let out a soft whimper as the heat flooded back into my limbs as I scrubbed one leg all the way up to the knee and back down to the ankle. I moved to the other, aware that my touching was heating me up in more ways than one! What a hussy I was—a virgin hussy but a hussy all the same.
I looked up as I caressed the skin just below my knee and saw the driver’s eyes fixed on me through the mirror. It was probably just a coincidence. He must have been looking at the traffic out of the back window, right? It was uncanny how his eyes felt like they were literally on me. I felt as if he caressed me with his gaze, and although I knew it should probably creep me out, I actually found it turning me on.
I sat up and pulled the zip down on my waterproof. In the heat of the bus, my body was overheating. Remembering my mum’s sage advice, I took my coat off and lay it over my bag beside me. I glanced back as I did so and noticed there wasn’t another soul on the bus. That was not unusual for this time of the morning, though.
What was unusual was that when I looked up again the driver’s gaze was on me again, and it seemed as if he was looking into my abundant cleavage. The shirt I had to wear for work had quite the plunging neckline. I had complained about it before, a girl with so much boob needed a higher-necked shirt, but the shop owner just shrugged and told me, “No exceptions.”
The bus driver was looking at me, I was sure of it. Every time I looked up, I saw his eyes. His dark, piercing, sexually sparkling eyes had me squirming in my seat. I might have been a virgin, but I was not frigid. I’d been aware of my sexuality for a few years but unfortunately had not found anyone willing to search it with me. I was late jumping on the bandwagon, hence my virgin status.
But his gaze rested heavily on me, and it was arousing much more than just my curiosity. A wicked idea flashed through my mind, and I wondered if I could actually go through with it. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for him! I supposed it would let me know if he was watching me or not. I parted my legs a little more and rested a hand on one of my knees then after checking out the window for bus stops and seeing none, I hiked the skirt up my leg an inch or so and exposed the bottom of my thighs.
I heard a groan, a definite reaction from the driver and lust shot up from my hand to my pussy. I didn’t risk looking up. I didn’t want anything to break the spell. I put my other hand down on the edge of my skirt, and I pushed down and yawned as if I was only stretching as I pulled back the material even further, bringing the edge of the scratchy material to just below my crotch.
I risked another glance up and sure enough he was looking at me again. It was thrilling. I realised it was dangerous. There used to be a notice on all buses warning you not to distract the driver from his duty, but as he was crawling along at a sedate, country-lane kind of pace I didn’t feel too bad. I watched under hooded eyes, and he did look away, concentrating on his driving once more. Confident that he was not going to crash us, I continued with my game.
I stretched out my legs then parted them further and exposed my cotton-covered pussy. It was a shame that I was wearing practical, plain-white knickers that day, but from the gasp I guessed the driver wasn’t particularly bothered by their utilitarian look.
I’d always been the good little girl, and I realised with a shock of sexual pleasure that being naughty turned me on. I panicked as he pulled into a lay by, but I looked out of the window and saw there was no one there.