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Subject: {ASSM} MIB Ch.12 by Rachael Ross (See Ch.00 For Codes)
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Date: Sat, 16 Aug 2008 04:10:01 -0400
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Monsters in My Bed and Other Stories
Chapter 12 - Girl on the Bus

Copyright 2008 Rachael Ross All Rights Reserved




I was fifteen and riding the bus. There were a lot of people on it,
businessmen mostly and predominantly white of course. I was the only
black person there, but I wasn't nervous or anything. I'd grown up in
Minneapolis and sometimes it was like that. That's why we're the
minority, right?

Mostly I just held onto the chrome bar above my head and tried to look
out the window, or maybe read someone's newspaper while they held it
up. I had a long ride from downtown out to the suburbs and traffic
didn't help. We were stopped quite often for no good reason at all. It
was just another boring bus ride.

And then I felt someone touching me. It wasn't so strange, being
crowded like it was, but this was more than incidental contact. It was
a hand, a finger, just that and nothing more. Someone was stroking my
bare thigh beneath the plaid pleats of my school uniform. It tickled
at first and I shooed the contact absently, not realizing what it was.
The hand moved away and then returned a few seconds later. That light
touch up and down, just along the back of my leg.

I was going to turn my head and say something, because I was a little
naīve then, a bit innocent really. I thought it was just...A mistake,
you know? I didn't know what to think, but I didn't turn my head. I
shifted slightly, gripping the chrome tightly, turning my body and
shuffling my feet. I didn't look though and I didn't say anything and
whoever it was, he took that for agreement, I suppose.

The hand became bolder, but only slowly. He was teasing me and I was
very sure it was a he, but don't ask why. There were other women on
the bus obviously. This was a man though and I felt two and three of
his fingers, soft and not callous, his hand now caressing me. It was
unmistakable and undeniable and I swallowed hard. I licked my lips and
tossed my head, so that my loose black hair would fall in my face. I
have thick hair, coarse and straight, not kinky, and I was using it
like a veil. I was doing it deliberately to hide myself. Or maybe to
hide him from me.

I liked that hand. I was fifteen and I'd never been kissed. I'd never
had a boyfriend and no man had ever touched me. Until now. But I'd
dreamt of it and so this was something like a dream come true for me.
I felt safe too, that's the thing. I was on a bus, surrounded by white
people. The man touching the back of my thigh could do that much, but
what else? Nothing, I thought. He could feel my skin, how soft and
smooth and warm I was, but nothing more than that. I would remember
how it felt and close my eyes later and relive it in my bed with the
lights out. Alone. I was making my plans already and hiding behind my
hair.

The bus lurched to a stop and the man behind me lurched with it. We
rebounded, the way people do on busses and he used that excuse to
press his palm against me. He was holding the back of my leg, giving
me a small squeeze somewhere between my knee and panties. I hitched a
breath and blinked, but I said nothing. I held that breath while the
hand moved. The bus was stopped, but the hand moved and it seemed so
quiet then, like everyone around me was holding their breath as well.

The bus started moving with a deep growl and I let my breath go as the
soft noises of travel began. The hand moved higher, sliding upward
slowly. I closed my eyes and stiffened because he was under my skirt
then, in the shadows with me. I reached back and perhaps he thought I
meant to stop him, but in truth I had no idea what I was doing. I was
just reaching blindly and then his hand was gone. I'd frightened him
away and I felt disappointment. I was surprised, maybe even shocked by
how clear that emotion was. I was unhappy and alone and I missed that
stranger's hand on my skin.

My heart was beating fast, as it had been, and I stopped my tentative
reach and let my arm hang at my side. I may have turned a little more,
as if presenting the stranger with my back completely, an invitation
to take advantage of my deliberate ignorance. I kept my head down and
I waited, but there was nothing. I waited another half minute, a
minute longer while the bus rocked and swayed and there was still no
touch. I moved then, knowing the man must still be there. No one had
gotten on or off, we were all steadfast in our places. He was there, I
was certain of it, and so I moved my left hand back slowly, finding
the hem of my skirt and I reached under it myself.

I scratched the back of my thigh lightly with my nails, exactly where
he'd last squeezed me. A little scratch and nothing more and I
returned my hand to my side as the bus stopped once again. A few
seconds later, with a dull rumble the bus moved and the man along with
it. His hand found my leg and I shivered with relief. It was
unmistakable, the tremor running along my spine and shaking my
shoulders. His hand was back and I nodded slightly, knowing he would
see that sign. I was a tall, thin black girl, giving myself to a
stranger and my every part of me ached with unexpected pleasure. I'd
never felt like this before.

He was brave then, knowing that I wanted his attentions now. His hand
went higher and found the crease in my flesh, the soft wrinkle between
my ass and my thigh, just beneath the leg band of my panty. He traced
it with a finger, back and forth, sliding his fingertip along the
shallow furrow my stance created. I was breathing harder, through my
nose as I compressed my lips tightly. That wonderful hand was so
gentle, so loving it seemed to me. I'd never known anything like it in
my life and when his caress moved to graze the cotton of my panties,
to follow the full curvature of my butt, I shivered again.

It was unreasonable, to feel so good about something like that. A
stranger touching my ass on a bus and yet there it was. He was doing
more than touching me, he was loving me, or so I imagined. He was
enjoying me and sharing something with me. He was anonymous and
existed only as a pressure on my skin, a shadow in my feverish mind.
He was perfect that way and I didn't protest when his hand cupped my
left cheek and began to massage it lightly. He was bold as I arched my
back, thrusting my ass back only so much as I thought I could get away
with. Nobody else knew what we were doing and that was amazing to me.
It made it even better, doing this in the middle of that crowded,
claustrophobic place. I was trapped.

Both hands. I had to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out with
surprise and pleasure. He was directly behind me, I realized, standing
with my back to his chest and I could feel the weight of him, the
warmth of the man through our clothes. He was taller than me because I
could feel his breath in my hair. It made me tingle and my breasts
ached, my smallish tits almost hurting beneath my bra as they tried to
grow. My nipples itching and trapped in the soft cups which contained
them. And his hands were between us, under my skirt and holding my
pert black butt. I could hear and feel his breathing, I thought, and I
wanted to feel more. I was hot all over by then, my body breaking out
in sweat and I felt sticky beneath my white blouse.

It was unfair, feeling like that. I was on my tip toes and biting my
bottom lip so hard I could feel it swelling beneath my teeth. He was
gripping my ass tightly, but not hard, not painfully, it only felt
good. Those strong fingers kneading my flesh, working my panties loose
and down. I cleared my throat, fearing I would gasp or moan or make
some other noise to give our game away. I cleared my throat as my
panties came down in his hands. Over the roundness off my butt,
clinging briefly to my moist pussy, but then sliding down my thighs
and he just...Let them go. They fell without so much as a whisper to
puddle around my ankles and black school shoes.

I blinked rapidly, wondering how I would get them back up. It was a
funny thought and one I didn't understand. My white panties were off
and on the floor of that bus and how would I bend over to pull them
back up? The hands though, they drove all reason from my mind. My
doubts fled and a sudden fear took possession of me. Fingers were on
my skin. My bare skin. Hands were touching my ass without anything
between us. I couldn't breathe and my heart was a hammer in my chest.
Goosebumps appeared on my arms and I was shaking my head, but the man
insisted now. The time for refusal was over and his hand was moving
down, along the deep crevasse between my cheeks and lower still.

He meant to touch me there, in that place, and I shuddered, shifting
my weight from one foot to the other and somehow spreading my legs for
it. Had I planned that? I couldn't know. I didn't want to examine
myself or my intentions, but I'd done it. I was standing with my feet
apart, my panties stretched now between my ankles and those fingers
were rubbing my soft vulva from behind. I was wet. I shut my eyes
again, feeling tears welling beneath the lids. I was wet between my
legs and inside my sex there was a deep ache of desire. I'd spread my
legs for him, of that I had little doubt. My virginity was on display
to the man's fingers and he explored me slowly, carefully and without
mercy.

My thin lips were spread around his finger as it moved lengthwise
along my slit. The pad of his digit found my immature clitoris and I
let out a soft sob, helpless to do otherwise, but even that didn't
stop the man now. We were possessed and invulnerable, immune in a
world all our own. Everyone else on the bus ignored us. The others
slept, or read their magazines, or looked out the windows. They
couldn't see us. We were invisible and I was bending my knees, seeking
more pressure, more of that awful pleasure. I had a fever and his
fingers rubbed over my clit which was stiff and throbbing and I felt
him playing with the thin wisps of my pubic hair. There was no part of
me he couldn't explore and I thought I would die from it.

I coughed and straightened up and made like I was looking around. I
was blinking as if the light hurt my eyes, but really it was the
sudden fear and excitement of being caught. What if someone caught my
face, caught my brown eyes with theirs and knew what I was doing? What
he was doing to me? But no one did. The bus was stopped and people
were getting off, only one or two near the front and the rest of us
moved not at all. There were noises, the whoosh and squeal and bang of
doors opening and closing. The outside coming in briefly, a motorcycle
passing and a radio someplace. A dozen seconds of confusion to draw
our attention and then the doors closed and I felt him pressing inside
me.

His penis was free and the man was under my skirt with it. His cock
angled up and unmistakable. I'd never even seen a real one. Never
touched one before in my life, but now it was there between my legs
and he was lifting himself to stab upward and into me. His hands were
low on my hips, on my thighs really, urging me silently to keep my
legs spread for him. The stranger had taken advantage of my
distraction. Nobody had noticed and no one asked the man why he would
be standing so close behind the little black schoolgirl. Nobody cared,
it seemed and I glanced about nervously, but I was careful still not
to turn my head too far. I was terribly frightened suddenly and a
portion of my mind wanted this to stop. Touching was fun and
dangerous, but harmless too maybe, but this...His cock, his white penis
was there between my legs!

And this was my dream taking shape.

A man taking me. He had no face or form except what I could feel. The
pressure on my hips, the warmth rising from his loins, the slippery
smooth head of his penis as it pressed against the folds of my
innocent sex. Would you think less of me if I told you this was what I
wanted? That having it now was the best, scariest thing in the world?
All those people, all those white people, surrounding me. They were
silent witnesses to my humiliation, my degradation at the hands of a
stranger who was going to use me for his pleasure. I had no words for
it then, no clear definition like I do now. I had only the instinctual
desire that haunted me every night when I lay alone in my bed. It
wasn't fair and I surrendered so easily. He knew I would, I thought,
and maybe he'd dreamed of me too.

My fantasy was upon me and I didn't run away from it. I braced myself,
so much as a fifteen year old girl can in the middle of the bus.
Emotionally as much as physically, although I had no experience to
draw upon. No clue or expectation. I couldn't breathe and my heart was
a hammer. I made fists of my hands and held my gaze down, determined
to give no outward sign of whatever I felt. Pain or pleasure, I would
swallow them both and keep my new experience inside me somehow. I
wanted this, even more than I feared it. I was shaking terribly and my
knees threatened to buckle completely.

He took me with a hard thrust at an opportune moment, when the bus
jerked to a sudden standstill and we were pushed forward by our
momentum. He held my hips in an iron grip and let his body surge into
mine. I screamed inside my head. Inside my heart I wailed. His cock
tore through my hymen easily and buried itself in the angry tightness
of my sex. The walls of my vagina were forced apart painfully and the
experience lanced into my belly so that I very nearly doubled over. My
grip on the rail overhead weakened, but I didn't let go. I remained
upright, with my ass pressed back against his trousers and my spine
bowed sharply inward.

He was in me now, completely it seemed, and we didn't move for a long
minute. We stood there like that, the man holding my hips while I
fought to regain my senses. The pain fell quickly to a dull throbbing
sensation, an aching cramp deep between my legs and I felt wetness
spilling down my thighs. It was hot and then it cooled and in my fever
I imagined it was blood. He'd taken my virginity certainly and so it
must be blood and I blinked at the tears running down my cheeks. Was I
bleeding from my eyes as well? I resisted the urge to wipe my face and
find out. The idea terrified me and I merely stood there until the man
began to move.

He was slow, with such small movements that I might have imagined
them, letting the motion of the bus do the work for him. Letting the
throat of my innocent pussy suckle at his prick with soft contractions
that I couldn't control. I was made for this, I realized, and the
feeling was undeniable with the slightest movement inside my sex
telegraphed immediately throughout my body. I trembled as I felt that
cock inside me withdraw a fraction of an inch and then press inward
again. I moved as well, working myself against him. My vaginal walls
clasped him so tightly that I was afraid he was pulling me inside out.
It was a strange feeling, like nothing else in the world, but it
didn't hurt. After that initial pain, there was nothing terrible -
only a deep and satisfying pleasure. It was a relief to understand
that this felt so good. I welcomed every part of our sex and I was
able to breathe slowly, letting the hot air escape my lungs and that
made it even better.

He made the faintest sounds, so soft were his grunts and he tried to
hold them inside, I'm sure, but I was tight for him. My pussy was hot,
burning through me and he must have felt it. I had to move and I did.
Some part of me was energized now, the woman part that had been
waiting for this. I was making love, for that's how it felt to me. I
was having real sex and I moved against him, so much as I dared,
pushing my butt against him and feeling his cock stretching me all the
way inside. He reached the deepest part of me finally, when I was sure
he was completely inside. I knew it because I felt the utterly wicked
sensation of his swollen cockhead touching the bottom of my pussy. It
was a pleasant jolt, an electric kiss that sent shivers up my spine
and my tummy quivered uncontrollable.

Something was happening to me and I'd thought I knew what an orgasm
was. I'd touched myself before, but this was different. This was real
and someone else was bringing me off. A man that I didn't know and
hadn't seen, a touch inside me that I'd never experienced before. He
was pushing me over the edge and I whimpered softly, biting my lip and
shutting my eyes tightly as all the best feelings in the world rushed
through me. I couldn't stand up and my fingers were slipping off the
rail above me. I was going to fall, but he held me up, impaled on his
cock while I came around him.

I was crying and I didn't know why. I was shaking and rocking my ass
against him so hard that the man had to squeeze me hard with his
fingers and shush me softly with his lips to remind me of where we
were. How I found the strength or the will to control myself I don't
know. I wanted to ride him harder, as hard and deep as I could because
everytime I moved against him, everytime the man's cock moved in and
out of my pussy, it was wonderful and insane and beyond anything I'd
imagined possible.

He was cumming, without a word or any sign of it except the slightly
more rapid thrusts, one, two three of them as deep and hard as he
could and then I felt it. The odd spasm of his cock against the grip
of my hungry cunt. The sudden flood of something hot and soothing and
indistinct. A warmth spreading through me that seemed to be everywhere
and nowhere all at once. It was just inside me and he was holding me
to him, breathing hard into my ear while I gasped weakly with the
knowledge that a man, a white man was cumming inside my young black
womb.

The bus was stopping and people jostled to get off and we had to take
an awkward step, the man buried and still hard inside me. His cock
still leaking sperm to mix with my own juices. It was spilling out of
me, leaking around his swollen shaft to run down my thighs and I could
smell it. I could smell our lovemaking and taste it on the air and I
wondered how any of those people couldn't know what we'd done. I was
smiling and then giggling, I swear. I felt high and euphoric and all
the fear that I should have felt, all the anxiety and doubt that would
haunt me later, was just a rumor for me then.

He pulled out of me slowly and I sighed at that, the curious and
unwelcome sensation of being empty but for the remains of our sex. I
was soaked inside and my pussy was sore, but in a good way. I liked
that feeling and losing my virginity hadn't been an awful experience,
it had been delicious and rewarding and I was crazy for thinking that
way, I know. But what else could I do? He pulled out of me and I felt
his movement, the awkward necessity of replacing his stained cock in
his trousers and zipping himself up.

And he didn't say a word, not even to say thank you or tell me he
loved me and I had thoughts of saying those things to him. Of turning
my head and seeing him and telling him he'd been my first, as if he
wouldn't know. I imagined doing that and of course I couldn't. The
moment was passing and I was coming back to my senses and my panties
were around my ankles. I was soaked with cum, his and mine, and it was
inside me. I started to feel the guilt, I suppose, the fear and
uncertainty that every girl feels her first time maybe. I don't know.

I waited until I couldn't stand it and when the bus jerked and groaned
to a stop again, I bent my knees quickly and picked up my panties with
clumsy, trembling fingers. I pulled them up as I stood again and I
didn't say a word or look at anyone or do anything, even as I realized
the man who'd taken my virginity, broken my cherry, was getting off
the bus. I didn't look at him, deliberately, and it pleased me greatly
knowing it could be anyone anywhere after that. He would always be a
secret who knew the truth and that made me tingle all over.




end
rache696@yahoo.com

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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