January 20, 2012

Frottage

My goodness, but I really have been remiss, haven't I? Neglecting you out there in the cold and the dark. My darling peeping perverts, alone in internetland with one hand down your pants, jacking it like the world's about to end. Get your kicks in while you can, my sweets, because if the Mayans are right, it just might. Have you thought about me, locked up here in the asylum? It's cold and dark here, too, and I'm alone with my thoughts. And my twat. (They're both dirty.)

You know, you might not know it to look at me now, strapped here to the bed in my standard-issue sexiopath uniform of pasties and crotchless panties, but I was once a world traveller. Little old me, fornicating my way around the globe. It was an endless source of adventure, fucking my way from place to place, warm nights in strange cities spent gagging on uncut foreign cock. Ah, those were the days...

Sweat trickles between my breasts, pools in the small of my back, beads on my upper lip. The black cobblestone streets are burning. It is sweltering here in Rome.

As the sun sets in a mythical ball of fire, I wait at the bus stop with tired American tourists in sensible shorts and sturdy sandals, handsome young Italian businessmen in tailored suits and slick hair, dark Italian women in short skirts and high heels, and, impossibly, nylon stockings.

When the bus to Trastevere arrives, it is already crowded. I force my way in, looking for something to hold on to, and the bus jerks forward into the chaos of taxi cabs and screaming motorcycles. I grab a vertical bar and press myself against it, facing the window to watch the sunbleached storefronts race past in a blur of shoes and leather.

As the bus lurches to a stop and lurches forward again, someone moves against me and I feel what is unmistakably an erection pressed up against my behind. I stiffen and try to squeeze myself forward into the pole, but we are packed in like a busload of tourists on our way to Pisa and there is nowhere to go.

The erection presses forward, insisting, and I give in--when in Rome--and press my ass backwards slightly into that stiffness, feel it respond to my response, growing harder, growing bolder. I tilt my hips and you move closer and I press back into you and you move against me and I am aware of the heat in this bus and the heat in my cunt as sweat and juice trickle together down my thigh and we rub together, your cock and my ass, pressing, aching, fucking, fucking, fucking, two strangers on a bus in a strange country, and we arrive with a shudder and a screech of brakes and the crowd pours out down the steps and down the street into Trastevere and I am borne along with them into the liquid night.