Bus Ride Blowjob Reunion

The arrivals doors sighed open and Emmett stepped through them with his carry-on rolling behind him, twenty-four and wrung out from three weeks of conference rooms and hotel sheets that never smelled like her. The terminal lights were too bright. His suit jacket was wrinkled at the elbows. None of it mattered the second he saw Vivian.

She was twenty-two, standing just past the rope line in a thin cream dress, dark hair loose down her back, a canvas tote on one shoulder. When their eyes caught, her whole face changed. She didn't wait. She pushed through the small knot of travelers and hit him hard enough that his bag tipped, arms around his neck, mouth already open against his.

The kiss was not polite. Three weeks of texts and one grainy video call poured into it. Her tongue slid against his, hot and sure, and his hands found her waist, then lower, palms spreading over the curve of her ass through the dress. She made a small hungry sound into his mouth. Someone behind them cleared a throat. Emmett didn't care. He could feel her nipples through the thin fabric, pressed to his chest, and the way she rocked once, shameless, against the front of his pants.

"God, I missed you," she breathed against his lips.

"Missed this," he said, and kissed her again, slower, dirtier, until they both had to stop or get asked to leave.

They walked out into the warm evening still touching. The city bus idled at the curb beyond the taxi line, doors open, a tired driver watching the board. Vivian had planned it that way. No rideshare. No extra twenty minutes of sitting still behind a partition. The bus would take them downtown, long and slow through traffic, and she had already decided where they would sit.

It was crowded. Commuters in work clothes filled the front and middle, shoulders touching, phones out, earbuds in. Vivian led him straight past them to the very last row, the wide bench against the rear window, half-shadowed by the bulkhead. They dropped into the corner together. His thigh pressed the length of hers. Her hand found his knee before the doors even hissed shut.

The bus lurched forward. Emmett's cock was already half-hard from the kiss, from the smell of her shampoo, from three weeks of wanting. Vivian's fingers traced idle circles just above his knee, and every sway pushed her closer. He turned his face into her hair and breathed her in, one hand resting high on her bare thigh where the dress had ridden up. They could barely keep still. Her pulse jumped under his thumb. His did the same under hers.

As the bus swayed through the first stretch of airport traffic, Vivian's hand slid higher. Not a mistake. A decision. Her palm warmed the inside of his thigh, then higher still, until her pinky brushed the swell of his cock through his pants. Emmett's breath caught. A man in a navy jacket sat two rows up, facing forward, scrolling. A woman across the aisle had her eyes closed, headphones on. Close enough to hear a zipper if they weren't careful. Close enough that the risk sat in Emmett's stomach like a second heartbeat.

Vivian leaned in until her lips touched his ear.

"I thought about your cock every night," she whispered, filthy and fond. "Thought about getting on my knees in that hotel room you sent me a picture of. Thought about how you taste when you've been hard for me all day. I used to take you so deep I couldn't talk after. Remember the way you'd hold my hair? The sounds you made when I sucked the head slow, just the head, until you begged?"

His fingers tightened on her thigh. "Vivian."

"I remember the salt of you. The way you'd thicken on my tongue right before you came. I haven't had you in my mouth in three weeks. Three weeks." Her hand cupped him fully now, squeezing through the fabric, feeling him swell and strain against his fly. "I can feel how bad you need it. You're already leaking, aren't you?"

He was. The head of his cock pushed wet against his briefs. The thrill of strangers just seats away, the fluorescent hum, the recorded voice announcing the next stop, only made it sharper. His hips shifted, a tiny involuntary thrust into her palm. She smiled against his jaw, pleased with herself, with him, with the whole reckless idea.

"Someone could turn around," he murmured, but he didn't move her hand. He spread his knees a little instead, giving her room, giving her yes.

"Then we stay quiet," she said. "Or we don't. I don't think I can wait until the apartment. I don't want to." She looked at him, eyes dark, asking without really needing to. They both knew the answer before he gave it. "Tell me I can."

"You can," he said, low and rough. "I want your mouth. Right here. I've wanted it since I saw you at the gate."

Her need snapped the last thread of patience. Vivian glanced once toward the aisle. Still the backs of heads. Still the sway and rattle of the bus, the sigh of brakes, a stranger laughing softly at something on a phone. Then she slid off the seat. The floor was hard under her knees. She settled between his legs in the back corner, the bulkhead hiding most of her from the rows ahead, her cream dress pooling around her thighs. She looked up at him with pure mutual lust, no hesitation left, her lips already parted, her hands resting on his knees like she was claiming them.

"Keep your eyes on me," she whispered.

He did.

Vivian worked his belt open with careful fingers, the metal quiet, the leather sighing. She popped the button. Drew the zipper down one tooth at a time, wincing at the small sound, then smiling when nobody turned. Emmett lifted his hips just enough. She tugged his pants and briefs down together, just far enough, and his cock sprang free into the warm stale air of the bus, thick and flushed, the head already shining. Three weeks. She made a soft, helpless noise at the sight of him and wrapped her hand around the shaft, feeling the heat, the pulse, the way he jumped in her grip.

"Missed you," she mouthed, more shape than sound, and leaned in.

The first lick was slow. She flattened her tongue under the head and dragged it up, tasting salt and skin and the slick already beading at the slit. Emmett's thighs tensed on either side of her shoulders. She did it again, swirling, circling the ridge, lapping at the underside where he was most sensitive until his stomach jumped. Then she closed her lips around him and sank down, wet and hot, taking the head into her mouth with a soft, filthy suck that seemed too loud in the quiet corner.

He gripped the edge of the seat. She hollowed her cheeks and pulled back, letting him feel the seal of her mouth, the drag of her lips, the little wet pop when she came off and immediately went down again. Spit gathered at the corners of her mouth and shone on his cock. She didn't wipe it away. She used it, stroking what she couldn't yet swallow, her fist gliding, twisting gently at the top on every upstroke while her tongue worked the head in slow, greedy circles.

The bus hit a seam in the road and jolted. Vivian took him deeper on the bounce, a wet gulp, and Emmett's hand flew to her hair. He didn't push. He held. Fingers woven through the dark strands, anchoring himself, fighting the groan that wanted out of his chest. Two rows up, the man in the navy jacket shifted. Didn't turn. Emmett's pulse hammered anyway. The risk of being seen, of a stranger glancing back and finding his girlfriend on her knees with his cock in her mouth, shoved them both harder toward the edge.

Vivian looked up at him while she sucked, eyes watering a little, lashes dark, and the look undid him. Pure want. She sank lower, relaxing her throat the way she knew he loved, taking him past the tight ring of muscle until her nose brushed the open fly of his pants and her lips met her own fist. She held there, throat fluttering around him, then pulled off with a gasp that was too loud, a string of spit connecting her mouth to his cock before it broke and slid down the shaft.

"Quiet," he breathed, thumb stroking her cheek, not meaning it, meaning don't stop.

She smiled, ruined and happy, and went back down. Slower this time. Noisier on purpose, or past caring. The wet sounds of her mouth filled their little corner: the slick slide, the soft choke when she pushed too deep and eased back, the hum she made around him that traveled straight up his spine. Her free hand left his thigh. He watched it disappear under the hem of her dress, watched her wrist flex, and knew from the way her eyes fluttered what she was doing. Rubbing herself. Two fingers, maybe three, working her soaked pussy while she sucked him on a public bus, panties shoved aside, thighs trembling against the floor.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You're touching yourself."

She nodded around him, a tiny motion, and sucked harder. Her hand under the dress moved in a quick, desperate rhythm that matched the bob of her head. He could smell her now, under the bus air and his own skin, sweet and sharp. The knowledge that she was that wet, that she couldn't wait, that she was getting herself off on the taste of him with strangers a few feet away, made his cock throb against her tongue.

He tightened his grip in her hair. Not rough enough to hurt. Enough to guide. She let him, opening her throat when he eased her down, hollowing her cheeks when he drew her back up to the head so she could swirl and suck and lap at the slit like she was starving for it. Precome smeared her lips. She licked it off him and went down again, pumping the shaft with a steady, slick fist, spit and need making everything loud and wet and perfect.

The recorded voice announced a downtown stop. The bus slowed. Brakes hissed. For a terrible, electric second Emmett thought someone would walk all the way to the back. His hand stayed in her hair. Hers stayed on his cock, mouth still full, eyes still on his, daring the world and trusting him at the same time. A passenger got off near the front. The doors shut. The bus rolled on. Neither of them had stopped.

Vivian moaned around him, quiet but not quiet enough, the vibration wrecking his control. Her fingers under her skirt moved faster. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hips rocked in tiny helpless circles against her own hand. She was close. So was he. The exhibitionist heat of it, the risk, the three weeks of missing her body, the sight of her kneeling in that cream dress with her mouth stretched around him, all of it stacked until he could barely breathe.

"Vivian," he warned, voice barely a thread. "I'm gonna—"

She didn't pull off. She took him deeper, fist tightening at the base, tongue pressing hard along the underside, sucking like she wanted every drop he had. Her other hand worked her pussy in frantic little circles. Emmett's head tipped back against the rear window. He bit the inside of his cheek. His hips jerked once, twice, shallow thrusts into the wet heat of her throat, and the orgasm hit him like the bus taking a turn too fast.

He groaned, soft and broken, unable to swallow the sound entirely. His cock pulsed, and he filled her eager mouth with thick ropes of cum, spilling over her tongue, against the back of her throat, more than he expected after wanting her this badly for this long. Vivian swallowed around him, throat working, taking it, not spilling, a low pleased sound vibrating through him as she drank him down. At the same time her own body went tight between his knees. She came on her fingers, quiet and shaking, hips stuttering, pussy clenching around nothing while she kept her mouth sealed on him through every last throb.

She stayed down until he softened a little, licking him clean with slow, thorough strokes of her tongue, catching a stray drop at the corner of her mouth and sucking it from her fingertip like she refused to waste any of him. Then she tucked him back into his briefs with careful hands, zipped him, smoothed his shirt, and climbed up onto the seat beside him, flushed and breathless, lips swollen, dress wrinkled, eyes bright with satisfaction.

Emmett pulled her in. Their fingers laced on his thigh. For the rest of the ride they didn't speak above a whisper, foreheads nearly touching, the city sliding past the rear window while the other passengers stayed lost in their own evenings. Vivian's mouth still tasted like him when he kissed her, soft and secret.

"The second we get through the apartment door," she murmured, already scheming, thumb tracing his knuckle, "you're putting me on the kitchen counter. I want your mouth where my fingers just were. And then I want you inside me until I can't remember the bus, only you."

"Front door won't even be locked all the way," he said, smiling against her hair, already planning how he'd lift that cream dress and finish what the ride had started.