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. But I felt a change – I was lusting after Amber herself. What she was doing was just so perfect. I wanted her in a way that I’d never felt before. It was so innocent, so flirty, so different from anything I had ever known. She was a schoolgirl. It was also so, so wrong. And yet…
Knickers were my weak-spot. Amber had found the chink in my amour. I didn’t lust after schoolgirls in general. I was happy with twenty-somethings. Or had been. When was the last time I’d seen another girl’s knickers? Perhaps my memory banks had been overwritten by Amber and her extensive collection of underwear, but I couldn’t remember a single instance of knicker-flashing. Sure, there were images of girls and women in their underwear but none of them seemed to love their frillies in quite the same way that Amber and I did.
She loved her knickers and loved showing them to me. I had no idea whether she felt anything sexual when she did what she did. Was it a stepping stone to something more? Was it a schoolgirl’s attempt to connect with an older man?
I’d never tried to touch her and she’d never encouraged me to do so but oh how I wanted to. The time I spent with Amber was so fleeting, just a few precious moments each morning but there was something there. Something unspoken between us.
We both arrived earlier than we had previously and we talked in hushed words. About the weather mostly. Our relationship wasn’t based on words. It was based on lust; on a somersault of emotions.
Relationship? There was nothing there. Nothing to base anything on. I didn’t even know why she was doing this to me. Was she teasing me? I thought back to the conversation with her mum, Marie. Why would she mention me to her mum if I wasn’t somehow significant? It was odd and unquantifiable.
Amber was the best thing in my life. I was getting to the point where the idea of a weekend was unbearable. Two days where I wouldn’t see her? I was obsessed. It was getting unhealthy, I knew that. At best, it was an unequal relationship. At worst it was an imaginary relationship.
I needed to do something. I need to ask her out.
There was added strain to the words on Friday. Usually they were utterly insignificant, yet it was always wonderful to share them with her. Amber was there and I was a little schoolboy all over again. Intimidated, and scared beyond measure. What if she says ‘no’?
“So, are you doing anything interesting over the weekend?” Amber asked, hesitantly.
“Not really,” I said, only aware that I sounded like a pathetic loser after I’d already spoken the words. Missing you. Just ask her out, you stupid lump!
“I’m going into town, if you’re interested.” Amber did that thing with the downcast eyes which I knew was when the words themselves hid, rather than revealed, the true meaning of what a woman was saying. It sounded like she was asking me to ask her out.
“Oh right… what time were you thinking?”
“Tomorrow, at half-ten?”
“I could do with popping into town,” I mumbled, carefully exploring the uneven ground between us. Amber’s face was fully flushed as she turned to look at me with that intensity of hers. Boinnng! It was a good job she was looking up at my face as I’d forgotten to cover the crotch of my trousers with my jacket.
“See you here?” she asked, her hands clutching legs jangling with excitement. My whole body was doing the same. It was what I wanted, but I knew that I shouldn’t be doing it. Spending time with a schoolgirl at a bus stop was one thing. Agreeing to go on a date was a whole different thing altogether.
“It’s a date,” I said. Fuck! I’d been thinking the word and it just slipped out before I could stop it. I saw Amber cringe at the word and I immediately regretted it. It had such powerful connotations. We were no longer two people meeting-up casually. A ‘date’ was a first tentative step on the romantic ladder. Double Fuck!
“Like a real date?” Amber asked, slightly in awe of the word. It was too late now.
“Yes,” I said, my heart hammering.
“Just the two of us?”
“Oh.” I couldn’t tell whether that had been a good or a bad ‘oh’. “Oh Shit,” she said through gritted teeth, as if reading my thoughts and jumped forward. She was waving her arm furiously but it was only as the 257 screeched to a halt that I realized what she was doing. I’d forgotten all about the bus.
“See you tomorrow then,” Amber said, glowing with happiness. Only as I sank into my seat did I realize that I hadn’t seen Amber’s knickers that morning. Friday – which ones would she be wearing on a Friday? More to the point, which ones would she be wearing tomorrow?