Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

Placed against her butt, which she knew from experience was one of her most sought-after features, was a warm iron pipe. Yes, right in the groove between her bottom cheeks! She chewed on the corn furiously.

She couldn’t scream for help with her mouth full. She twisted her head around to glare at the white guy, but he was standing with his eyes closed, a peaceful, innocent expression painted on his face, which was definitely not handsome. The warm iron pipe had withdrawn. It no longer pushed against her soft rump. She stared up at the man for a while. It was too dark to see if he was pretending to be dozing. A car passed the bus and the cabin was momentarily lit, the yellow glare of the passing headlights sweeping across the mass of long-suffering humanity squeezed like cattle inside the bus as it rattled through the hot night towards the capital.

She blinked and was startled to see his eyes, which were a deep brown with flecks of gold, now open and looking at her.

They didn’t turn away. The man watched her, no longer grinning like an idiot. He wasn’t quite as unattractive as she had first thought. She frowned at him and turned back to her solitary vigil at the greasy window. She knew what would happen next … and it did.

Actually, two things happened at the same time. She had just realized that her pussy was very wet because of the nasty thoughts she’d been unable to banish from her mind minutes earlier, when the bus hit a particularly large pothole on the highway and the foreigner was thrown against her back. A growl of irritation rose from the passengers, and some of the peasants near the front of the bus told the driver their opinions of his ancestry and his mother’s true occupation, but what Lisa knew with total clarity was that the iron pipe against her rump was real, very real, and had not been a dream.

The man groaned, inches from the back of her head, and what did little Miss Catholic Country Girl do? What did prim and proper Miss Irritation do?

She pressed her bottom back against his penis, is what she did.

To this day, when she thought about that moment, which was often, she could hardly suppress a smile. It was a delicious moment. The fire in her belly churned, the torment between her legs itched so much that she had to twist herself against the side of the bus.

She dropped the corn husk and her purse and raised her hand to the strap above her, the better to display herself for the foreigner’s pleasure. Standing on tip-toes, her calf muscles taut, she firmly, without a hint of shame, hidden by the noisy darkness, moved her derriere against his dick and began rubbing herself up and down like a mare in heat cajoling a stallion, for in heat she was.

She was wearing a red blouse made of silky material and although it was demure in style, with long sleeves and a big collar, she could actually look down and see her nipples pushing through the fabric. She placed a hand on her left breast and teased the stiff, thrusting peak of her nipple, playing with it, pinching, tweaking the small living cone, then, moving her fingers to the other breast, repeated the torment.

Her breath was rapid, further fogging the glass inches in front of her mouth. The hefty meat of the stranger’s prick gave off such a heat as to warm her bottom. The two of them, existing in their sensual zone of privacy amongst this mass of flesh around them … a zone made all the more thrilling because of its proximity to danger and discovery … began to move in time with the bus’s lurching motion.

His hands, unable to restrain themselves, left the strap and used her shoulders, and then her waist, for support. He leaned into her, and her bottom clenched and unclenched as his turgid love club, so fearfully constrained by the cloth of his khaki pants, pushed against her black skirt and silk panties, layers of material it was desperate to break through. Suddenly, the bus swerved off the highway and bumped down a short track to pull up, with a groan of brakes and a sigh from the ancient transmission, at a dimly lit way-station.

The bus stopped and the passengers pushed and jostled towards the door, which had swung open with a bang. Within seconds, they were alone on the vehicle, save for the baskets of vegetables and fruits, the slatted crates of chickens and a few pigs tethered by their hind legs.

She leaned down to pick up her purse, fighting to control her pumping breath, conscious of the soggy sweetness between her inner thighs, hardly able to turn from the window and escape her torturer. But turn she did, and fled, unable to make eye contact with the man, so shy did she now feel.