(Copyright belongs to the author, Saninian. Neither this story nor any extract of it can be reproduced in anyway without that author's consent.)
Elizabeth Morris waited patiently on the bus steps as the man in front fumbled for change. She wished she had brought her car. However difficult it was finding a parking place in the University staff car park it was better than this on a rainy November night.
Slowly she moved with the other passengers along the aisle of the dimly lit crowded bus. She clutched one of the vertical metal bars as the driver let out the clutch and the bus lurched forward.
'Oh! I'm so sorry. I... I... ' She had swung with the bus's momentum and now found herself practically lying across the lap of one of the seated passengers.
The man caught hold of her and helped her regain her balance. ' Don't you worry, Ma'am. You just move a bitty and let me up there and you be seated.' The voice was deep and rich and warm.
Elizabeth scanned the ebony face with its smiling eyes and the teeth gleaming white. She protested without conviction as the black man stood up and offered her his seat.
Once seated, her briefcase on her lap, one hand holding tight to the chrome handhold of the seat in front as the bus swayed and hurtled through the rainy streets, Elizabeth, in sidelong glances, considered her benefactor as he towered above her, swaying to the movement of the vehicle.
From her seated position he seemed tall but she guessed he was a little under six feet. 'Bulky' was the word to describe his physique, she thought. His raincoat was open as was his suit jacket and although there was no suggestion of a paunch his belly seemed to barely contain by his trousers and shirt. The thought of his belly, the word itself registering in her mind, caused Elizabeth to feel a warm glow diffuse her. She shifted in her seat.
'Are you all right, Ma'am?' The man bent forward over her. She looked into his face.
'God. How black he is. His skin is like polished coal. And his lips so thick and... ' Elizabeth felt an onrush of moist heat. ' Yes. Yes', she stammered, 'I'm fine. Absolutely. It was so kind of you... I... ' She ran out of words.
' It is my pleasure. I enjoy standing. I sit all day. You know, ' he bent further down. His face was only a few inches from her upturned one, ' if you were to get on the bus two stops before the one you were at tonight - that's where I get on - you'd get a seat no problem. The bus fills up after that.'
He smiled broadly, almost laughing, and Elizabeth glimpsed the pinkness of his tongue and the inside of his mouth. What was he so happy about? Was he looking forward to fucking some little black wife waiting at home for him with her knickers off?
'Thank you', she got out, 'that's very kind of you.'
Just then the bus driver braked sharply and turned a corner. Caught off guard, the standing passengers grabbed tight to the handholds to keep their balance. Elizabeth felt the black man's thigh press her right hand hard against the metal handhold. And then, unbelievably, as he shifted his feet, the hard muscle against the back of her hand was replaced by the soft yielding feel of his genitals.
Elizabeth stared fixedly in front of her. Her whole consciousness seemed centred in her hand. The man made no attempt to move.
' He must feel my hand', she thought, ' he must know his... his... ' she could feel herself getting warmer. She risked a sideways glance. The man was standing, his upper body swaying with the bus. His eyes seemed closed. One large hand was gripping the metal pole, his pelvic area pressed into the side of the seat in front of her and her hand trapped on the handhold.
She wondered if she should just pull her hand free. But then it occurred to her that that could be very embarrassing.
'Particularly if he isn't aware of what is happening. Maybe he can't feel my hand.' Elizabeth felt a giggle welling up and struggled to suppress it. She realised she must be smiling and bit on her lip to control things. It was than she felt a change on the back of her hand. Where there had been softness there was a sensation that was different. An ever-so-slight movement. A pressure on her hand unlike before.
She looked toward her hidden hand and saw the man's trousers bulging slightly. She looked away. The man on the inside seat was slumped against the window, his eyes shut. It dawned on her that the black man's open raincoat was blocking anyone else's view.
There was no doubt now she could feel the tumescent maleness against her hand. She looked and saw the bulge in his trouser front MOVE! Elizabeth had no doubt now: the black man was aware of her hand. He was enjoying it touching his... his...
' His cock' she said to herself, ' his big black cock. I'm sitting here on a bus with my hand touching a black man's cock. Me!' She smiled to herself and moved her hand just a little on the hold. The partially hardened flesh inside the trousers seemed to roll against the back of her hand. Elizabeth squirmed a little in her seat.
'Are you all right, Ma'am?' She looked up into the man's face as he bent down towards her. He moved a little as he spoke and she felt the hard flesh under the cloth, and then what she sensed must be one of his balls, against her hand. He gave no indication that he was aware of was happening.
' I'm really fine', she said, quietly. She was amazed at how calmly she spoke. 'Thank you.' She looked out of the window. 'Oh! It's my stop soon. You'll be able to get your seat back.'
The black man stepped back in the aisle and she let go of the handhold. He began buttoning his coat. She panicked. Was he going to get off with her? What if he was some kind of pervert? A rapist?
' We must live close together. I'm in Dudley Gardens. I'll get off here with you. It's not far to walk.' He bent and stared out of the window. 'I think the rain has stopped.'
Elizabeth's mind raced. He was so polite. And he didn't look like an axe murderer.
' Are you all right, Ma'am?'
She looked up at him and smiled, then glanced into the dark street. 'Yes, of course. But this is my stop, now'
She rose and he stood to one side to allow her to squeeze past.
The drizzle started again almost as soon as they'd left the bus and from his briefcase her companion produced the smallest folding umbrella Elizabeth had ever seen. Huddling close to get under it she felt his arm encircle her. She liked that. Apart from anything else it was sensible. Practical. But also enjoyable. Exciting even. She, Elizabeth Morris, walking in the rain with a black man, his arm around her, his hand resting on her hip.
He was a draughtsman in a firm of architects; he had transferred up to Edinburgh from Birmingham about eighteen months ago. Yes, he was married, with one child: a daughter living in Jamaica with her mother. No. His wife had gone back to Jamaica shortly after they had moved up here. She had gone to look after her sick mother taking their daughter with her. Her mother had died recently leaving her entire estate to his wife, her only child. He thought it unlikely they would ever come back to Britain. No. He would never go there. He had left Jamaica with his parents at the age of four. Britain was his home.
Elizabeth apologised for asking so many questions but he just laughed and gave her a little squeeze.
'Ma'am', he said, ' you have no idea how good it is to talk to someone about personal things. Especially to talk to an attractive woman. But hey, we'd better get properly introduced. And then you can tell me about you.'
He stopped and half-turned, causing her to do the same. They stood facing each other under the umbrella.
He put out his hand, his outstretched fingers almost touching her, 'I'm Richard Clarkson Mayhew. My friends back in Birmingham call me Clark.'
She put her small hand into his; happiness welled up in her as he enveloped it in his...
'I'm Elizabeth Morris', she murmured softly, ' I work at the University. It is a pleasure to meet you, Clark.' She hesitated, then. 'I too don't have many people to talk with. Call me Elizabeth, please.'
She stopped. He was still holding her hand. his thumb moving across it in small circles. He was so close. She remembered the feel of him against her hand in the bus.
A gust of wind blew the drizzle under the brolly.
'Hey', he laughed, 'we'd better get going before we get soaked.' He put his arm round her again and pulled her in under the brolly and the pair of them hurried down the street.
In next to no time they were at her road end. ' This is where I live', she said, rather sadly, as she drew them to a halt.
'Elizabeth', he took her hand again, ' I sure have enjoyed this evening. I hope you'll get on my bus again, soon.' He smiled at her. 'And I hope your husband won't be rowing you for being late.'
'I'm not married!' The words shot out. Then, 'I was married. Twice. But... She paused. 'There is someone. A friend. He... that is... We don't live together... '
And suddenly her mind cleared and she knew exactly what she wanted and what to say. 'Clark', she squeezed his hand and craned her head back to look into his face, their bodies close under the umbrella, 'I know we've only just met but why don't you come home with me for a meal. It won't be much, I'm afraid, but it's in the slow cooker and it'll be ready to eat now. It'll save you having to cook when you get home.'
She stopped. Amazed at her own words. Fearful that he would say no. 'Unless you've got something... '
'No! No! I mean Yes! Yes!' They laughed at his confusion. 'I'd love to come and eat with you.
Happiness filled her. ' Come on then. Before we drown!' She turned and he put his arm round her again and they half-walked, half ran, down the wet street.
'Why don't you have a more comfortable seat over at the coffee table? You can read the paper while I clear away.' Elizabeth rose and gathered up the plates.
The meal had been good. Clark was good company. Amusing. He seemed so much at ease with himself that she had relaxed almost from the moment she had taken his coat. He had taken off his jacket and tie too and the sight of him, in shirt and trousers and without shoes, had helped rid her of any tension.
Making the coffee she was conscious of being a little drunk; two full glasses of Chardonnay was about her limit. She also felt anxious as to how she could turn the conversation round. She need not have worried.
Later, sitting side by side on the settee, she was explaining the car-parking situation at her block of flats when he interrupted.
'So you have a car. You don't always take the bus?'
Elizabeth hesitated and looked into his eyes, ' No', she said softly, ' I don't. But I'm glad I did today.' She felt his knee graze hers. 'It was so... it was... pleasurable.'
His eyes widened. ' It was', he murmured. He moved closer. He reached over her head so that his left arm was on the top of the settee and her head was just touching the crook of his elbow. She could feel the warmth of his thigh through the thin material of her skirt. He turned to half-face her and she became aware of his right hand on her leg, just above her knee. Excitement grew in her.
' I don't know what made me behave in that way. But when you didn't seem to object... When I saw you smiling.' His hand caressed her leg, his thumb making little circles on her lower thigh. ' Did you... like it?'
Elizabeth leaned back and allowed her legs to part slightly. His arm moved down a little so that her head now rested on it' Yes', she said, ' Nothing like that has happened to me before.'
She turned to look at him and at the same time moved her head so that his arm now embraced it. Her breath was hot in her throat and her lips parted. 'It might have been different if you hadn't been so polite and so nice to me when I got on the bus.' She hesitated. 'And you hadn't been black.'
The last sentence seemed to hang in the air. Their eyes remained locked. He was very close now, his hand moved slightly and she felt his spread fingers on the inside of her thigh a few inches above her knee. She parted her legs a little more.
' You mean you are attracted to black men?' he breathed the words, his dark brown eyes never leaving hers.
'I... I... I'm not sure. I've never met one before... Before now. That is not like... ', she hesitated once more. Then, ' I've imagined myself with... ', she stopped, her courage faltering. Wanting him to make it easier. To seduce her. Yes! She was in no doubt that was what she wanted. There had been enough talk.
As if responding to her thought, he bent and kissed her. She kissed him back; opening her mouth as his tongue touched her lips. The kiss became increasingly ardent and she felt his hand slip under the hem of her skirt and feel its way up her thigh.
She spread her legs a bit more, invitingly. His fingers reached her stocking top, stopped, then edged on to her bare flesh. They felt warm and strong on her soft skin. Elizabeth felt she could hardly breath, her heart was thumping in her chest. She felt heat and wetness suffuse her sex.
Gently he caressed and massaged her upper thigh with those thick strong fingers. She longed for his finger to probe her, to open her, to penetrate her. Her legs were spread wide now, exposing herself, her skirt bunched up, revealing her tiny white briefs. She gave a little involuntary moan, turning her face into his shoulder, sliding down till her back was almost where she had been sitting.
She felt his large hand cover her mons veneris; his palm pressed the springy hair of her bush, rubbing and pressing on her pubic bone. Then ever so slowly, he slid his hand up and under the top of her flimsy knickers and his thick middle finger pushed through the silky curls and between the swollen yielding lips of her wet hot cunt...
'Ohhh', she moaned softly, ' Oh! Oh!',
' Is this what you imagined?' she heard him whisper into the top of her head.
Later she was amazed that she was able to answer in the way that she did. She was so aroused. ' No!' she said, ' Not really.' She saw the shock on his face. She lay back on the settee, her legs spread wide, his thick finger deep inside her.
'I imagined more!' She said.
She felt a strange sense of power. Yes, she still wanted him to dominate her. To be the one who was taken. The female yielding to her male master. The one who was fucked. But right now she rejoiced in her immediate power in the situation.
'I want to see your cock. I want to hold it in my hand. I want to kiss it. I want to find out if it's true what they say about black men. I want to feel it inside me. That's what I've imagined.'