THE BUS MAN Sissy faggot romance Chapter 1
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THE BUS MAN (Sissy Faggot Romance) Chapter 4 free porn video
THE BUS MAN
Chapter 4
I had nearly half an hour to wait for the all-night shuttle, so I pulled the fleece collar of my leather flying jacket up, and settled down on the bench at the bus stop to review the evening. I felt again the thrill of dressing up, and how I loved the feel of my waist laced really tight, my cock and balls cradled in silky panties, my pale thighs bare above black stockings. And this new 'lesbian' passion between me and Tom - that was a great Christmas present! I really hoped there would be more rampant cross-dressed sex between us. Then there was Jack. In my mind, I saw him again with his lean thighs spread, and Tom kneeling between them, slurping on his big boner. I started to fantasise about what would have happened next if I'd stayed. I saw Tom straddling Jack's lap, his sweet bubble butt poised over that ram-rod cock, knobby and veined, gleaming with lube, its long pointed tip nudging between the smooth, round buns. I saw Jack's sinewy hands grabbing them, his strong fingers digging deep into the flesh, prising them apart, and Tom's voice, whimpering and moaning as Jack forced his butt down, down onto the bone-hard erection - like a plump white peach impaled on a wooden stake. Then I imagined it was my turn, lying sprawled on my face, arse in the air, with Jack's strong hands gripping my neck, firmly holding me down as his pile-driver prick rammed my big booty.
My reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the bus. I got up to board it, keeping my hand in my pocket to hide the stiffy I had from my imaginings. As I flashed my pass, I cast a surreptitious glance at the driver's thighs, in their close-fitting grey cotton trousers. Mmm! Nice and muscular, with a promising bulge between. I was starting to move down the bus, when I was rooted to the spot by a husky bad lad voice I had heard before.
"You're not talking to me then, Morris?" I looked. The twinkly eyes. The sexy lopsided grin. Derek! A black cherub, dressed like a Zulu warrior, fluttered by, and flung his assagai. It struck home - thunk! - right between my boobs. I flushed lobster red, and babbled,
"Oh, hi! Yeah. Derek! Yeah - hi! Didn't recognise you with your clothes on! Hahaha!" He laughed too, but rather less hysterically than me.
"You live on this route, then?" he said.
"Yeah. About half a mile further on from the terminus."
"Hey, if you don't mind hanging around at the depot for a bit, I can give you a lift. I've got my car
there."
"Oh no - you really don't have to ... (What?!! Don't be a fucking twat! It's DOUBLE DECKER DEREK for fuck's sake!!) ... er ... I mean, well... I mean - if you really don't mind ..."
"Course not."
"Well ... thanks, then!"
"No worries."
I dropped into the first seat on the other side, feeling as daft as Shirley. That opening had really not been glittering. But I had a chance to redeem myself. There was time - the rest of the journey, the stop at the depot, the car ride to my place. And maybe I could ask him in when we got there ...?
It was already calming me to watch him doing his job. He was obviously good at it, braking easily, manipulating the huge steering wheel with his strong, muscle-rounded arms, cheerfully greeting the passengers. There were only a few, as it was the lull between pub and club chucking out times. Then, a couple of stops before the end, two skinheads got on.
The first was a weaselly looking guy, shaved bald, black bomber jacket over a tee-shirt with some band's logo in Gothic letters - 'Dikhed', or something like that. He wasn't aggressive, but he had a mean, dangerous look. He seemed really drunk, and was having a lot of trouble finding his fare. I watched Derek's profile as he watched the skin, calm but wary. God he was sexy! Eventually the weasel's friend came forward and said "Ere y'are, Jaz. I'll get these". This one was something else. He was taller than the other, and his skin cut was less severe - a sandy coloured fuzz all over his head. And he clearly worked out, with his thick bull neck, emerging from a short sludge-green bomber, zipped up and stretched tight over wide slabby pecs. And below the waist! Wow! Jeans, bleached almost white, straining at the seams over big, bulging thighs, and, when he turned to go up the stairs opposite me, glutes like a pair of large melons in a small bag. I was just wondering how far I'd have to shove my face between them, for my tongue to reach his hole, when a hard, loud, slurred voice stabbed me in the left ear.
"Oi! Gordon! This fuckin pouff's eyeing up your arse!" A large bag of ice appeared in my gut, and I thought, "Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! You stupid queen! Cruising a skinhead! What kind of an idiot are you?" Jaz, the weasel, was still ranting.
"An look at this!" he said to Gordon, who was now looming over me too, "He's fuckin wearing make-up, nancy fucker!" Again - shit! It was true, I had not been very thorough with the wet-wipes after our rehearsal. Gordon loomed closer.
"Zat right? You was chekin my arse?" he said. My heart was lightly skipping, like a rabbit, as I looked up at his face. Red - squashed nose between small eyes - thin lips. But was there a glimpse of something human? I struggled to work up some saliva, then said,
"Well, of course I was. I was checking your pecs too. That's some serious muscles you got there. You must have got bodybuilding prizes, and that. No?" A long pause. Then a thin-lipped smile.
"I won trophies."
"I'm not surprised." Suddenly the lips parted in a crooked-toothed laugh.
"Hahahaha! Leave him, Jaz. He's all right." he said, roughly mussing up my hair. Maybe a bit too roughly - though better than a broken nose. I started breathing again. But Jaz was not convinced. He was baring an even uglier set of teeth in a vicious snarl.
"Makes me sick! Fuckin sick. Fuckin queer cunt!!" Suddenly he lunged at me, and I turned away, trying to protect myself from the assault. But it didn't come. I looked up, and saw Derek's broad back in front of me - between me and the weasel. I hadn't even noticed us stopping.
"I think you to need stop hassling this guy, and get off the bus." He was saying, quite calmly.
"Whasser matter? He your boyfriend?" said the weasel. Derek glanced over his shoulder at me, then,
"Yeah. He is." he said. "That a problem?" Weasel snarled again.
"Then you're a fuckin queer too!" and he swung a punch, which Derek deftly turned into an armlock. Before I quite knew what was happening, the bus doors had hissed open, weasel was sprawled on the pavement outside, and Derek was standing by the doors, arms folded, waiting to see what Gordon would do. The skinhead hunk lumbered down the bus towards Derek, then carried on past him (even now I couldn't resist a glance at that big, beefy butt in tight white denim). Just at the exit, he stopped, and turned back to look straight at me. My heart skipped a beat, and Derek slowly unfolded his arms. The hunk narrowed his eyes at me, murmuring,
"Hmm ... yeah ..." then he turned to Derek, and said, "Give him one from me, mate!" and with a leer and a wink, he was gone. What? He was gay?! He fancied me?!! My mind did a back flip, and for a split second, I was on my back, under that great mass of muscle, with my legs in the air, and my hands clutching those solid boulder buns as they pounded me into the mattress, before I remembered something much more important. Double Decker Derek had said I was his boyfriend! I started to giggle like an idiot, heading towards a full fit of the hysterics, when I heard Derek's voice saying,
"Morris. Morris! Are you OK?" I snapped out of it, and shook my head clear, saying,
"Oh! Yes ... yes, yes. Just a bit shaky, that's all." I looked behind. There was only a fat girl in headphones and a fluffy pink jacket who had noticed nothing, and an old guy at the back, fast asleep.
"I'll get you a cup of hot, sweet tea when we get to the depot." said Derek. Now the threat was past, I was feeling bold, and asked,
"Nothing stronger, I suppose?". Derek smiled.
"I might just have half a bottle of scotch in my locker. For medicinal purposes."
"Ah! Just what the doctor ordered." He laughed, and ruffled my hair. His touch sent a shiver of pleasure through me. It occurred to me he was claiming me back from big Gordon. As he turned to go back to his seat, I said,
"Derek. Thank you. You saved my butt."
"Well, it's worth saving" he said.
I lay back in my seat, my foot up on the luggage box, grinning from ear to ear, like the proverbial cat that got the cream. My sexy busman started up, and swung the vehicle out into the street, and off towards the depot. I closed my eyes and felt the vibration of the bus's engine between my buns, and up my spine, making me hard as a rock. Oh man! This cat was definitely getting some cream!
manmare
Chapter 4
I had nearly half an hour to wait for the all-night shuttle, so I pulled the fleece collar of my leather flying jacket up, and settled down on the bench at the bus stop to review the evening. I felt again the thrill of dressing up, and how I loved the feel of my waist laced really tight, my cock and balls cradled in silky panties, my pale thighs bare above black stockings. And this new 'lesbian' passion between me and Tom - that was a great Christmas present! I really hoped there would be more rampant cross-dressed sex between us. Then there was Jack. In my mind, I saw him again with his lean thighs spread, and Tom kneeling between them, slurping on his big boner. I started to fantasise about what would have happened next if I'd stayed. I saw Tom straddling Jack's lap, his sweet bubble butt poised over that ram-rod cock, knobby and veined, gleaming with lube, its long pointed tip nudging between the smooth, round buns. I saw Jack's sinewy hands grabbing them, his strong fingers digging deep into the flesh, prising them apart, and Tom's voice, whimpering and moaning as Jack forced his butt down, down onto the bone-hard erection - like a plump white peach impaled on a wooden stake. Then I imagined it was my turn, lying sprawled on my face, arse in the air, with Jack's strong hands gripping my neck, firmly holding me down as his pile-driver prick rammed my big booty.
My reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the bus. I got up to board it, keeping my hand in my pocket to hide the stiffy I had from my imaginings. As I flashed my pass, I cast a surreptitious glance at the driver's thighs, in their close-fitting grey cotton trousers. Mmm! Nice and muscular, with a promising bulge between. I was starting to move down the bus, when I was rooted to the spot by a husky bad lad voice I had heard before.
"You're not talking to me then, Morris?" I looked. The twinkly eyes. The sexy lopsided grin. Derek! A black cherub, dressed like a Zulu warrior, fluttered by, and flung his assagai. It struck home - thunk! - right between my boobs. I flushed lobster red, and babbled,
"Oh, hi! Yeah. Derek! Yeah - hi! Didn't recognise you with your clothes on! Hahaha!" He laughed too, but rather less hysterically than me.
"You live on this route, then?" he said.
"Yeah. About half a mile further on from the terminus."
"Hey, if you don't mind hanging around at the depot for a bit, I can give you a lift. I've got my car
there."
"Oh no - you really don't have to ... (What?!! Don't be a fucking twat! It's DOUBLE DECKER DEREK for fuck's sake!!) ... er ... I mean, well... I mean - if you really don't mind ..."
"Course not."
"Well ... thanks, then!"
"No worries."
I dropped into the first seat on the other side, feeling as daft as Shirley. That opening had really not been glittering. But I had a chance to redeem myself. There was time - the rest of the journey, the stop at the depot, the car ride to my place. And maybe I could ask him in when we got there ...?
It was already calming me to watch him doing his job. He was obviously good at it, braking easily, manipulating the huge steering wheel with his strong, muscle-rounded arms, cheerfully greeting the passengers. There were only a few, as it was the lull between pub and club chucking out times. Then, a couple of stops before the end, two skinheads got on.
The first was a weaselly looking guy, shaved bald, black bomber jacket over a tee-shirt with some band's logo in Gothic letters - 'Dikhed', or something like that. He wasn't aggressive, but he had a mean, dangerous look. He seemed really drunk, and was having a lot of trouble finding his fare. I watched Derek's profile as he watched the skin, calm but wary. God he was sexy! Eventually the weasel's friend came forward and said "Ere y'are, Jaz. I'll get these". This one was something else. He was taller than the other, and his skin cut was less severe - a sandy coloured fuzz all over his head. And he clearly worked out, with his thick bull neck, emerging from a short sludge-green bomber, zipped up and stretched tight over wide slabby pecs. And below the waist! Wow! Jeans, bleached almost white, straining at the seams over big, bulging thighs, and, when he turned to go up the stairs opposite me, glutes like a pair of large melons in a small bag. I was just wondering how far I'd have to shove my face between them, for my tongue to reach his hole, when a hard, loud, slurred voice stabbed me in the left ear.
"Oi! Gordon! This fuckin pouff's eyeing up your arse!" A large bag of ice appeared in my gut, and I thought, "Oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! You stupid queen! Cruising a skinhead! What kind of an idiot are you?" Jaz, the weasel, was still ranting.
"An look at this!" he said to Gordon, who was now looming over me too, "He's fuckin wearing make-up, nancy fucker!" Again - shit! It was true, I had not been very thorough with the wet-wipes after our rehearsal. Gordon loomed closer.
"Zat right? You was chekin my arse?" he said. My heart was lightly skipping, like a rabbit, as I looked up at his face. Red - squashed nose between small eyes - thin lips. But was there a glimpse of something human? I struggled to work up some saliva, then said,
"Well, of course I was. I was checking your pecs too. That's some serious muscles you got there. You must have got bodybuilding prizes, and that. No?" A long pause. Then a thin-lipped smile.
"I won trophies."
"I'm not surprised." Suddenly the lips parted in a crooked-toothed laugh.
"Hahahaha! Leave him, Jaz. He's all right." he said, roughly mussing up my hair. Maybe a bit too roughly - though better than a broken nose. I started breathing again. But Jaz was not convinced. He was baring an even uglier set of teeth in a vicious snarl.
"Makes me sick! Fuckin sick. Fuckin queer cunt!!" Suddenly he lunged at me, and I turned away, trying to protect myself from the assault. But it didn't come. I looked up, and saw Derek's broad back in front of me - between me and the weasel. I hadn't even noticed us stopping.
"I think you to need stop hassling this guy, and get off the bus." He was saying, quite calmly.
"Whasser matter? He your boyfriend?" said the weasel. Derek glanced over his shoulder at me, then,
"Yeah. He is." he said. "That a problem?" Weasel snarled again.
"Then you're a fuckin queer too!" and he swung a punch, which Derek deftly turned into an armlock. Before I quite knew what was happening, the bus doors had hissed open, weasel was sprawled on the pavement outside, and Derek was standing by the doors, arms folded, waiting to see what Gordon would do. The skinhead hunk lumbered down the bus towards Derek, then carried on past him (even now I couldn't resist a glance at that big, beefy butt in tight white denim). Just at the exit, he stopped, and turned back to look straight at me. My heart skipped a beat, and Derek slowly unfolded his arms. The hunk narrowed his eyes at me, murmuring,
"Hmm ... yeah ..." then he turned to Derek, and said, "Give him one from me, mate!" and with a leer and a wink, he was gone. What? He was gay?! He fancied me?!! My mind did a back flip, and for a split second, I was on my back, under that great mass of muscle, with my legs in the air, and my hands clutching those solid boulder buns as they pounded me into the mattress, before I remembered something much more important. Double Decker Derek had said I was his boyfriend! I started to giggle like an idiot, heading towards a full fit of the hysterics, when I heard Derek's voice saying,
"Morris. Morris! Are you OK?" I snapped out of it, and shook my head clear, saying,
"Oh! Yes ... yes, yes. Just a bit shaky, that's all." I looked behind. There was only a fat girl in headphones and a fluffy pink jacket who had noticed nothing, and an old guy at the back, fast asleep.
"I'll get you a cup of hot, sweet tea when we get to the depot." said Derek. Now the threat was past, I was feeling bold, and asked,
"Nothing stronger, I suppose?". Derek smiled.
"I might just have half a bottle of scotch in my locker. For medicinal purposes."
"Ah! Just what the doctor ordered." He laughed, and ruffled my hair. His touch sent a shiver of pleasure through me. It occurred to me he was claiming me back from big Gordon. As he turned to go back to his seat, I said,
"Derek. Thank you. You saved my butt."
"Well, it's worth saving" he said.
I lay back in my seat, my foot up on the luggage box, grinning from ear to ear, like the proverbial cat that got the cream. My sexy busman started up, and swung the vehicle out into the street, and off towards the depot. I closed my eyes and felt the vibration of the bus's engine between my buns, and up my spine, making me hard as a rock. Oh man! This cat was definitely getting some cream!
manmare
Jeannie
- 21.10.2021
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