Mr. Blue Eyes – Part 2 [MF] [Public]

My heart hammered in my chest. The corresponding whoosh of warm blood through my body did little to stem the electrifying, skin-on-fire cascade of nervous energy. The butterflies in my stomach had long since stopped fluttering gently and were now full-on crashing into one another, wings ripped and manic. Somehow gulping down the chilly morning air didn’t seem to be helping. I wiped my face and attempted to take a few deep, steadying breaths. It was useless. The trickles of perspiration on my forehead were chilling in the cool morning air, and I shivered, wishing I was someone who could play it cool a little better. I was always fine once things began to happen. It’s the nervous anticipation that killed me.

Truthfully, I knew that I could have been dressed in a winter parka and I’d still be feeling that shiver. I was at the bus stop, waiting for the C24. Waiting to take the same bus ride that had rocked my world so thoroughly yesterday.

Outwardly, it was like any other Tuesday. The usual line of office workers wound its way down the sidewalk, all of us miserable in the unremitting morning rain. Cars drove by, and the wet squish of their wheels splashing through the puddles of water made me envy them in their pleasant, quiet passenger vehicles. The humid crowd of wet coats and umbrellas would make today’s bus ride especially unpleasant. But truthfully, I doubted I’d even notice. Every last bit of my attention would be focused on the man who I could see as clearly as day every time I closed my eyes.

Mr. Blue Eyes.

Those eyes. They haunted me. Intense, deep blue like nothing I’d seen before. Would he even be on the bus this morning. Was yesterday was just a figment of my sex-starved imagination? Had I hallucinated the magnificent stranger, my traitorous brain inventing my own personal version of sex on legs? Last night I’d dreamt of his head between my thighs, of his warm, wet tongue sliding up my pussy as two of his fingers curled inside me, stroking my g-spot. I woke up orgasming in a pulsating, wet rush, aching with longing.

The screeching of breaks signaled the bus’s impending arrival and I gripped my umbrella, wiping my wet, plastic-covered bus pass against my skirt so it would scan properly. I don’t think I took a single breath as I boarded the bus. The air around me faded into silence, and all I could hear and feel was the rapid pounding of my own heart.

I walked down the aisle, eyes scanning rapidly. It was hard to see all of the passengers, given how crowded the bus was due to the rain. Everyone was cloaked in rain coats, and their hoods blocked my view of several faces. But as far as I could see, there was no flash of blue, no panty-melting stare to be found anywhere. My heart sank. He wasn’t there.

All of the anticipation and adrenaline of the morning plummeted through me, and I sagged, deflated and defeated. I must have imagined him. I let go of the pole I was holding to keep me steady to rub my temples, as though that small physical gesture could somehow mediate my disappointment.

I should have known better than to let go of that pole. The bus was normally bouncy at best, but this particular driver seemed to enjoy lurching around the sharp neighborhood corners at an eyebrow-raising speed. He did exactly that, and in an unfortunate moment reminiscent of yesterday’s stumble, I began to tip backwards. I couldn’t believe it. This could not be happening again. It was like something out of a bad romantic comedy. This time, however, there was nothing for me to grab onto as I had been standing in the very center of the aisle. The pole in front of me was now too far away to reach. I was falling without the possibility of recovery.

Time slowed down as I pitched back into the unknown, and I winced, anticipating the pain I’d feel when my ass hit the hard bus floor. Odds were good that I’d bang my head on the knees of the passengers sitting behind me. The skirt I was wearing would probably fly up, and the passengers would be treated to a repeat performance of yesterday’s flashing extravaganza. Note to self, why aren’t you wearing pants, you ding-dong? I saw several of my fellow passengers also stumbling and falling. The bus driver must have had a masochistic streak, because I caught him grinning at the destruction through his rear view mirror.

A split second before I hit the ground, I lost momentum, my body somehow instantly suspended in mid air. Strong, gentle hands clasped my waist, lifting me up and back and pulling me directly onto a lap. Thick, strong thighs underneath me held me steady as muscular arms circled around me.

I was so disoriented for a second by the near miss that it took me a moment to realize I was sitting in the lap of a complete stranger. A voice rang in my ear.

“Are you OK sweetie?” A gentle hand covered my shoulder and tucked my hair behind my ear. “Hey driver! Are you trying to kill us? My girlfriend nearly fell over! Stop driving like you’re in Grand Theft Auto!”

Huh? ‘Girlfriend?’ I blinked, not understanding. The early morning, combined with the recent adrenaline crash and then near miss of physical pain, had scrambled my brain.

I looked around, and several passengers next to me scowled at the driver, clearly agreeing with the disembodied voice behind me. The arms clasped tighter around me, making it impossible for me to turn around. His hard, broad chest pressed up against my back. His head tucked into the crook of my shoulder, and his hot breath tickled my ear.

“I thought I’d have to work a little harder to get you to sit on my dick,” he murmured, his words so quiet that I was the only one who could have heard them. “God damn. It’s my lucky day.”

I froze, and my face went red in an instant. An electric pulse shot up my spine and I suddenly lost the ability to breathe. I elbowed one of his arms and managed to wrench my body around just enough to see the person who caught me. But I already knew, before I even laid eyes on him. It was Mr. Blue Eyes.

I instinctively moved to stand up, but his strong arms snaked back around my waist and held me in place. I whimpered, not knowing if I should be aroused or sketched out that this insanely sexy stranger had his hands all over me, called me his girlfriend, and wouldn’t let me move.

Judging by the slick feeling between my legs, arousal was winning.

“Don’t move,” he whispered in my ear. “They all now think you’re my girlfriend, which means your sexy ass is staying right here on my lap until you get off.”

“Until I get off?” I choked out, desperately hoping that he wasn’t just referring to getting off the bus. And then, my senses returning in a millisecond, I chided myself for what felt like a complete and total abandonment of my general commitment to acceptable public behavior. Who was this person who so readily sat on the lap of a stranger? Was I about to be axe-murdered, too distracted by his overwhelming sexiness to fight back? Did I even care? Fuck, he smelled good.

I looked around us. The bus was so crowded that no one even batted an eye, seeing me sitting on his lap. It freed up more space for them in the aisle. And all of them were absorbed into their phones anyway, reading or listening to music. We were alone in our small universe.

I choked in disbelief, then attempted again to pivot around so I could see him. “Who are you? Let me go.” But my body betrayed me, and the words coming out of my mouth were drowned out by the obviousness with which I leaned against him and tucked my legs under his.

His chest vibrated with a soft chuckle. “Mmmhmm. That’s what I thought.” His hands moved quickly to smooth out my thigh-length coat around me. I thought he was trying to make me more comfortable, until he leaned in close and whispered in my ear.

“I’m dying to touch you. I’ve been so fucking hard for the last 24 hours thinking about yesterday that I can barely walk straight. That fucking pink thong… Jesus.” He rested his head against the back of my neck, his fingertips digging almost painfully into my hips.

I drew in a breath, unable to move or even let it out.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice almost cracking with need as his arms tightened around me. “Let me make you feel good.” I felt his cock pressed against my ass, hard and already throbbing. The thin layers of fabric separating us moved slightly and without thinking, I began slowly and imperceptibly grinding against him. He groaned, then disguised it as a cough as he remembered our surroundings. A middle-aged woman across the aisle looked up at us curiously, tilting her red reading glasses down her nose. But her eyes darted so quickly back to her book, I couldn’t tell if it was an idle glance, or if she harbored some suspicion about what was going on between me and Blue Eyes. I did know one thing though: I was past the point of caring what the other people on the bus thought.

Something came over me, and I melted into the wanton sexpot I’d always wanted to be. “Be quick about it,” I whispered in his ear, my heart pounding. I didn’t know where this was going, but I knew that somehow, the universe had thrown down the gauntlet. And I couldn’t walk away. Maybe the gods of the universe appreciated my latest donation to the ACLU and had decided to reward me with this borderline-celestially hot stranger. “Thank you,” I whispered silently to them.

It took him less than a second to unwrap one of his arms and slide a hand underneath my coat. I then understood why he had so carefully smoothed it down – the fabric blocked the view of his hand moving up to touch me. The person sitting to our left was holding some kind of large box, completely blocking views of us from that side, both from the seats adjacent and from the aisle. The person to our right was fast asleep with headphones in, dead to the world. More passengers had boarded the bus, and the aisle in front of us was full, the closest passenger standing faced away from us. It was almost as if fate was intervening and daring us along.

His warm hand slid down the side of my thigh, then back up, and over the top, until it rested in between my legs. I squirmed and he paused.

“This ok?” he asked, the hesitation in his voice somehow making the whole situation even sexier. He wanted my consent again. He wanted me to want him as much as he wanted me.

“Shut up. Touch me,” I half-moaned, leaning further into him.

A low, quiet growl escaped from the back of his throat, and he slid his hand over the top of my panties, then quickly downward. I choked back a gasp as I felt his strong fingers slide through my folds. His body tensed up underneath me, as though he could barely restrain himself.

“If we were alone, I’d eat this pussy until you could no longer move,” he growled quietly into my ear. “But I’m going to have to make you come like this since we’re surrounded by strangers.”

Surrounded by strangers? Had he forgotten he was a stranger to me? I didn’t even know his name! But the warning of risk behind that thought quickly faded as his strong hand delved further down between my thighs.

His fingers began to move, sliding deep inside of me as his palm massaged my clit. I rocked gently against him, hiding the movement of my hips with my shoulder bag. The arousal and anticipation of the past 24 hours already had me most of the way there, and his touch was like the spark setting alight some dynamite.

“Your stop is coming up,” he whispered. “Be a good girl and come all over my fingers.”

The world around us faded into black, and all I could feel was him against me and his fingers inside me, stroking me. I erupted, and heard him gasp as he felt my pussy convulsing around him. I tried to pant quietly, but I’m not sure how successful I was. I’d never come that quickly in my life. The pleasure washed over me in waves and I rested my head back against his, attempting to ride it through without falling off the earth. The manly scent of him, some combination of aftershave and pure testosterone, amplified the intensity of the pleasure rippling through me. My legs were jelly and the only reason I hadn’t slid onto the floor in a puddle was that the hand not between my thighs was firmly planted on my hip.

The bus began to slow to a stop, and all of a sudden I was bereft, his warm fingers gone and his hands lifting me to a standing position. I turned to face him as I waited for the queue of passengers to move down the aisle towards the bus exit. My heart nearly exploded when he held the fingers that had been inside me up to his face and inhaled my aroma, all the while staring at me intently. And then he licked them. He licked his fingers with a long, seductive stroke and his eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy, sending my mind reeling. I doubted my knees could withstand any more, and I turned to face the exit, certain that if I looked at him for one second longer I would fall face first into the aisle.

“Wait a second honey,” I heard him call after me. “You dropped this!” He winked as he handed me a small slip of paper, and then returned to his seat. I was too dazed to do anything but turn around and continue off the bus. Somehow I made it down the three stairs, and turned to watch it rumble away.

The cool morning air was like a slap in the face. Autumn leaves scattered against my feet, and the smell of bus exhaust swirled around me. Wet rain drops splattered on my forehead and I opened my umbrella, careful to not drop the small slip of paper he had given me. As soon as the pedestrian traffic from the bus dissipated, I unfolded his note. It rustled in my hands, and in messy black handwriting, I read the following:

I want to see that wet pussy.


I gasped at the audacity. He’d had no time to write this note, as there was barely three seconds between when I looked away from him and when he called me back to hand me the note. He had to have written it in advance.

Arrogant bastard. He knew how he affected me and he wasn’t afraid to call it out. I didn’t know if I loved or hated that confidence, his certainty that he could read my body.

And his request to text him a picture of my wet pussy? I wasn’t that kind of girl… was I? My friends always teased me about being a dinosaur, desperately old-fashioned in a world of sexters, Snappers and Instagrammers. I laughed when I realized that my era of prudishness was now definitively over, given that I’d just come all over a stranger’s fingers on a public bus.

I was suddenly obsessed with the idea of sending him intimate pictures of me. My phone felt heavy in my pocket, and I relished the idea of teasing this man with a part of my body that had just given us both so much pleasure. If he thought he had the upper hand knowing how wet he made me, well, he had not yet experienced the desperate temptation of seeing my pussy, bared only for him and dripping with arousal.

I didn’t even go into the office when I arrived at the building in which I worked. I went straight to the private office on the fourth floor, stripped off my skirt and panties, and took the pictures that I knew would drive him wild. I faced away from the bathroom mirror, and somehow got a decent picture of my voluptuous bottom, which I figured would serve as a bonus for him, a type of thanks for the blissful morning orgasm.

Later that morning, after obligatory small talk had been made with my co-workers and I pretended to work for a few hours, I pulled out his note, and entered him into my phone’s contact list as “Blue Eyes.” I carefully curated the pictures, choosing one with my wet arousal glistening on my lips, and a second of my fingers gently spreading myself apart, showing the pool of moisture left from his earlier ministrations. The third picture was my ass in all its round, pert glory.

I must be crazy. He’d made a wanton, sex-crazed woman of me, in front of all the passengers on the C24 bus. Would I ever be able to ride that bus again? Would I ever be able to ride that bus again without thinking about riding his dick, or his fingers?

Not even a moment later, it occurred to me that I couldn’t care less. It didn’t matter. Whatever this was, I wanted it. More than I could even articulate. I tapped my phone to send the pictures, and leaned back in my chair, heart pounding, desperate for whatever would come next.

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