Darren stood carefully within the shadow of the bus stop wall. It was a hot morning in Atlantica and sweat crept down his spine. The tiny shade of the bus stop wasn’t much comfort but he took what he could.
He fantasized about the air conditioner at work. His chair was right under a vent. The air would hit him right at the back of his neck as he hunched over the hundred bras he would mend today. The sewing instruments would be cold in his hands. The bras themselves would be crisp to the touch from sitting overnight in their work pouches. The smell of perfume would drift up from the bras.
A clicking sound woke him from his daydream. His eyes opened and blinked back sweat. The source of the clicking was a blonde woman with high heels. Sunglasses concealed her eyes and her face was a mask of urban solitude. A professional skirt wrapped around her stocking clad legs while a blouse of the latest fashion covered a proud chest.
Thirty-eight D cups, Darren assessed. It was his profession to know.
The blonde woman walked past the bus stop towards a mailbox. She stopped in front of the mailbox and adjusted her skirt. She reached around and fidgeted with the zipper.
Darren caught himself staring and looked away. He looked down the street for signs of the bus. There was none.
He pulled the schedule form his pocket. He had just moved to Atlantica a few weeks ago and the buses still confused him. It should have been here by now.
Darren glanced back at the blonde woman. She was bent over the mailbox now. Her skirt was unzipped to her waist and her bare ass was exposed. Black panties were pulled down to her ankles. She had her head down and a veil of blonde hair covered her face.
This time he stared. The woman’s ass was pale white. A hint of a blonde bush could be seen between her legs.
Darren wondered if she was in distress. Should he go over and ask if she was okay? Surely this wasn’t normal?
It was so hard to tell in Atlantica.
Darren’s member stirred within his slacks. He groaned. Multiple experiences measuring women’s busts had taught him how poorly his work slacks covered erections. He turned as subtlety as he could towards the wall and hoped the shade would conceal the rising bulge.
A small group of people walked down the street. Darren relaxed a little. There were two men and a woman walking in that focused rush that was so typical of Atlantica pedestrians. One of them was bound to approach the bent over blonde woman.
One of the men saw her and went back to talking on his phone. The woman saw the bare ass and increased her pace of walking. The other man made no sign of noticing. All three of them walked past the strange woman.
Darren bit his lip. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Did they avoid the woman because that is what you are supposed to do when such a thing like this happens?
He thought about calling the police. A shiver ran down his spine. No, he remembered his last encounter with the police.
Cars drove past. The blonde woman stayed bent over the mailbox. The sun added a glare to her pale bottom.
This must be some custom he was unfamiliar with. He thought about going over there and asking her. It was hard not to see her position and not interpret some sort of invitation. One does not expose their ass and bend over without expecting some sort of response, right?
What would Darren say? He tried a few questions in his mind but they were all wrong. They were too forward or too risqué. Mostly though the questions he thought of would betray how naïve he was about this big city.
He looked down the street. Still no bus.
A man walked past Darren and towards the woman. The man’s suit was high quality and his expensive shoes put Darren’s to shame. The man paused behind the woman and set down his briefcase. He unzipped and pulled down his pants.
Darren felt that he should really say something about this point. Was the man about to take advantage of the woman’s vulnerable state? Or was this something that happens around here?
He kept quiet.
The man guided his member into the woman’s sex. He let out a loud groan as he entered her. His hands clenched her skirt as he began to fuck her.
The woman didn’t look like she was in trouble. Her arms wrapped around the mailbox for support. She spread her legs further to let him reach deeper.
The sound of the man slamming into the woman’s pale ass echoed down the street. Darren’s erection ached for attention. The shade of the bus stop wall was little comfort to the heat within Darren’ slacks.
Another group of people walked down the street; three men and two women this time. They all turned to look at the fucking couple but none of them said anything. They kept walking.
This must be a thing Darren decided. No one was calling the police. There were no looks of shock. It was perfectly normal for a woman to pull her panties down and bend over until someone fucked her.
The man slammed into the bent over blonde. His hips worked with the steady relentless pulse of a stitching machine.
Darren wondered if he could have fucked her. She never lifted her head to see who was fucking her. She kept her head down even though he was fucking her so hard that the mailbox was shaking. It seemed to Darren that she didn’t care who fucked her.
He thought about how nice it would have been to touch that pale ass. He wondered if her sex would feel hotter than the Atlantica asphalt. Could he keep an erection while fucking on the side of the street?
His erection was confident that he could.
The heavy squeal of air brakes came from down the street. His bus was coming. Darren kept staring at the fucking couple. The man was going faster now and would soon climax.
The bus stopped. Darren reluctantly climbed aboard. He slipped his card into the machine and waited for acceptance.
Outside the front of the bus, the man kept fucking the bent over blonde.
CLICK! His card was accepted and pushed back to him. Darren took the card and looked for a seat. There were no window seats available.
Darren sat down. The bus drove on. He thought about his missed opportunity to fuck a stranger on the side of the street.