I saw Amber every day at the bus stop that week, but frustratingly, we were never alone. A serious-looking woman spoiled our fun by wandering around the shelter, talking endlessly into her mobile phone while waiting for a car to pick her up. She seemed indifferent to the obvious hatred and frustration rolling off me. Didn’t she know this was my special time with Amber? She could wait for a car anywhere. This bus stop was ours.
Despite the company, Amber conspired to show me her knickers every morning. Shoe tying, indiscreetly bending over or more directly, she made sure that I'd had a good look at her underwear before I got to my seat on the bus. They were all new knickers, and although none were as spectacularly revealing as Monday's example, I was in panty-paradise. She had great taste and a perfect body to display them on.
I had become happily obsessed with Amber and her wonderful panties. The morning wank was no longer enough to satisfy me. My filthy fantasies continued into the shower and throughout the subsequent bus journey. The ones on the bus were the best; the ones about what I’d do to the naughty schoolgirl giggling at the back of the top deck.
My cock burned with desire as I imagined staggering to the gaggle of girls. The giggling would stop and Amber would look up at me expectantly. We’d never been seen ‘together’ before. I’d drop to my knees in worship. Amber would smile down on me and know what I wanted, what I needed. Her knees would part and she’d show me her panties again. The prettily-patterned cotton, or the delicate lace between her legs. Her friends would watch in shock as Amber slid forward and gently pulled my face onto her crotch. Only then would they understand the connection that existed between us; when they saw my mouth pressing against Amber’s underwear.
I’d lick her through her panties, rejoicing in the wetness soaking through the material: Amber’s sex juices – I wanted them and sucked greedily. Eventually, Amber would take pity on me, and pull the material aside in order for me to eat her peach directly. I’d want to dive in and feast on her bared pussy but I wouldn’t. I’d do it slowly and sensually, kissing and licking her skin, exploring the newly exposed area with my lips and tongue. Amber’s pussy would be throbbing and clenching as each zone ignited beneath my experienced touch. It was an act of worship – I’d be doing it for her pleasure, not mine.
My mouth watered as I imagined my tongue delving between Amber’s pussy lips, probing down, sampling the sweet juices leaking from her vagina. I imagined seeing Amber’s eyes widen as I sucked and swallowed. I’d moan to let her know how much I was enjoying what I was doing to her. The shocked response to every sensation would let me know she’d never been licked like that before. Amber’s lips would curl into a smile of anticipation as she felt my tongue sliding upwards, until the soft tip caressed her clitoris. I’d do it gently, barely touching it at all, but I’d still feel the trembled response of her body. I’d keep to the same soft stimulation until I felt the movement of her hips against my mouth; Amber’s body letting me know that it was time to exchange the heat and arousal for an orgasm.
Subtle changes to the pressure and speed of my tongue would be enough to change the track from mere stimulation to fulfillment. I’d see the expectation on her face, the trust as my tongue turned quivers into shudders into spasms. Amber knows that I’m going to make her come in front of her friends, in front of everyone on the bus but she doesn’t care. It’s too late anyway. Her body has reached the tipping point and her crotch shudders against my mouth as her schoolgirl thighs clamp against my ears, muting the sounds of her gasps.
I can feel the wetness oozing into my boxers. The orgasm was mine, not Amber’s. No-one looks or cares as I extract a tissue, give a cursory wipe of my nose before stuffing it into my boxers and wrapping it around the leaking tip of my pulsing cock. As always, the first thing I do when I get to work is nip into the gents and clean myself up. If I’ve got time before I’m due at my desk, I have another crafty wank. My mind is always firmly fixed on Amber, and it’s her hand which milks the dribble of white into the toilet bowl, not mine.
********I couldn't tell whether Amber knew the effect her little displays were having on me – but I suspected not. Of course not! I longed to tell her, or even better show her. Jesus, just the thought of responding to one of her displays by opening my fly and showing her my throbbing erection! She’d probably run a mile or… my mind was swamped with filthy images yet again.
I’d obviously had to hide the physical response, especially given the additional audience at the bus stop.