The Stranger on the Bus Who Gave Me an Order

It was an ordinary Tuesday, one of those days that drags itself along until it’s almost night. I’d been getting off work late for a couple of weeks, and to make matters worse I’d had to leave the car at the shop for a service. I don’t mind public transport now and then, but I live on the outskirts of Valencia and the last bus of the day feels endless.

I got on, dragging my exhaustion with me. The vehicle was almost empty. I walked to the back and collapsed into one of those rear seats with two others facing it. In the back section there was only a pair of elderly ladies, sitting a couple of rows ahead of me, talking to each other in low voices.

I took off my jacket, loosened my tie, opened the book I’d been reading in fits and starts, and began to read. For the first time all day, I felt my shoulders start to loosen. The city was falling behind the window in patches of orange light.

After a while I looked up. In the double seats on the other side of the aisle, level with the two ladies, a woman had sat down. Blonde, with brown skin, and eyes such a vivid blue that they stood out even under that dim light. She wore a black knee-length skirt, a white blouse a little rumpled from the hours, and red high-heeled shoes with thin heels.

She looked to be around forty. She had a tired face, the kind you get when you’ve been on your feet all day. She’s probably just gotten off work, same as me. We looked at each other for a second, neither of us smiling, and I dropped my gaze back to the book.

I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate, and I knew it. Out of the corner of my eye I followed every movement she made, and in the window beside me I could see her reflection perfectly. Then she did something that captivated me. She slipped one foot out of her shoe, first just the heel, then all the way, and moved her toes through the sheer fabric of her stockings, stretching them slowly, like someone finally breathing after holding it in.

She put the shoe back on and, sighing, rested her feet on the edge of the seat in front of her. The lady sitting in front of me turned around at once.

—You’re rude. You’ll dirty the seat I’m going to sit on later —she snapped, with that shrill voice of someone who enjoys being right.

Her friend nodded, smiling. The blonde woman, without arguing, lowered her feet, took her shoes off completely, and put them back up, this time barefoot, looking at the two ladies with a half-smile. She stretched her toes and showed the red-painted nails beneath the stocking fabric. She crossed one foot over the other and rubbed the sole of one against the instep of the other, with a slowness that seemed designed to provoke.

The image struck me as tremendously sensual. So natural, so oblivious to what it was doing to me. I felt my cock beginning to swell inside my trousers, and with it an absurd, uncontrollable urge to caress those feet, to put them in my mouth, to come all over them.

—How rude! What bad manners —the lady insisted, raising her voice so the whole bus could hear.

The woman, now truly uncomfortable, lowered her feet and pushed them back into the heels without fully putting them on. The lady smiled, satisfied, convinced she was the center of attention and that the few of us left on board agreed with her. She even gave me a knowing look, as if expecting my approval.

And then I couldn’t take it anymore. Without thinking, I got up and went to sit in the seat opposite the stranger. She looked at me in surprise, her eyes reddened, on the verge of tears from sheer embarrassment.

—What the hell do you want? —she asked, her voice almost breaking.

—For you to rest your feet on my lap —I said, hesitating, terrified. Then I added, to the astonishment of the woman and the two ladies—: If you want to.

There were a few seconds of doubt. She must have thought I was crazy, or a pervert, or both at once. But then, slowly, she took her shoes off again and rested her feet on my knees. By then my cock was pushing against the fabric of my trousers, making an impossible-to-hide bulge, and she noticed. She bit her lower lip, shy, nervous, and made as if to pull her feet away.

I didn’t let her. I took one foot in each hand, firmly, and started massaging the pad beneath her toes with my thumbs, that area that aches after a whole day in heels.

The lady stood up in a rage. Followed by her friend, she shot us a hateful look before getting off at the next stop, muttering something neither of us wanted to hear. I smiled at the stranger, without stopping caressing her feet, and started to let go of them so I could sit back upright.

—You can put your feet wherever you want now —I said.

And just as I was about to get up, almost out of the seat, she set the bare sole of her right foot right on my cock, pressing it against my belly through my trousers.

Feeling that warm foot against me, I swallowed. She bit her lip and smiled at me, but the embarrassment from a minute earlier was gone. It was another look. The look of someone who has just decided something.

—Don’t move from there —she said quietly—. I want your hands where they were two seconds ago. And I want you to keep pressing and massaging. I really like your touch, you know?

I was insanely aroused, nervous, scared, and surprised in equal measure. I sat back down without hesitation and obeyed. I took hold of her feet again and sank my thumbs into the sole, while she increased the pressure of her heel against my cock and watched her smile grow. I could feel every one of her toes probing me, tracing the length of my dick through the fabric, measuring it shamelessly.

—My name’s Marina —she said.

—Adrián —I answered, almost voicelessly, feeling her heel squeeze my groin—. Nice to meet you.

—No. The pleasure’s mine. Mine and my feet’s. Which, by the way, can already feel how hard you are. Very hard, Adrián. You’re very hard.

She swallowed and smiled again, rubbing the sole up and down, dragging her toes over the entire length.

—Hard day? —I asked, just to say something, though the question sounded more intimate than I intended.

—I’ve been running back and forth around the office in these hellish heels. I couldn’t take it anymore. My feet hurt so much I don’t know if, after this massage, I’ll even be able to put them back on —she said, amused—. It would be torture to have to put them on again, get home and not have these hands to reward my feet with a massage just as good. And it would also be torture, now that I think about it, to leave you with that cock like that, without emptying it.

I didn’t know whether she was joking. But I thought I understood that she was inviting me to much more than another massage.

—Then don’t put them back on when you get off —I said without thinking, imagining her walking barefoot down the street, her shoes dangling from her toes.

Marina looked at me, amused, and pressed a little harder with her heel, crushing my cock against my thigh. I looked up. By then it was just the two of us left on board. The driver had switched off the interior lights, and only the emergency lights and the orange glow of the streetlamps flashing past came in through the windows in bursts, drawing and erasing her face every few seconds.

She was gorgeous, and this was the kind of situation you don’t believe possible until it happens to you. I could feel my cock rock-hard, pinched inside my trousers, throbbing with every squeeze of her fingers. I made a gesture, as if asking permission to unbutton my pants. She tilted her head just enough to grant it, never taking her eyes off me.

I unbuttoned my trousers and carefully pulled the zipper down. My cock jolted inside my briefs, making an obscene bulge, with a damp stain already on the fabric. At once, her feet began stroking me through the underwear, first with the sole, then trapping me between both of them, playing, measuring my reaction. Each movement was a silent command: stay still, let me do it, I decide this. She squeezed my cock between both soles, moved it up and down, dragged the wet fabric of my briefs against the glans, sending shivers through me.

—Take it out —she whispered—. I want to see it. I want to feel it on my skin.

I obeyed. I lowered the elastic of my briefs and freed my cock, which stood pointing at the bus ceiling, thick, swollen, the glans shining with all the pre-cum. Marina licked her lips at the sight. Without saying a word, she placed both soles on either side of my cock and wrapped them around it, trapping it as if it were a warm, soft fist. She started jerking me with her feet, up and down, squeezing with her toes, sliding along the foreskin, dragging the cum that was already leaking down my shaft and using it as lubricant.

—Fuck, Marina… —I groaned under my breath, biting my lip so we wouldn’t give ourselves away.

—Shut up —she said, smiling—. Shut up and let me fuck you with my feet.

Marina lifted her skirt with one hand up to her waist. With the other she pushed her underwear aside and started rubbing her pussy, slowly, never stopping working my cock with her feet. From where I sat I could see perfectly how she sank two fingers between her glossy lips, how she pulled them out wet, how she rubbed them over her clit in slow circles. She was dripping. Her stockings had torn on her thigh, and the black fabric framed the pale flesh and the trimmed blond hair.

—Look how wet you’ve got me —she murmured, opening her pussy with two fingers so I could see the pink, shiny inside clearly—. Look. This is all because of your cock.

I had an enormous urge to leap from the seat, kneel in that aisle and lick her until her legs buckled, to bury my tongue deep inside her, suck her clit until she screamed. But she wouldn’t let me move, and that was exactly the part that drove me crazy. She was in charge. She decided how much, how, and when.

With a movement of her fingers she had managed to pull my briefs all the way aside, and now she was stroking my cock directly, skin against skin, rubbing her fingers over the glans, trapping it between the thumb and forefinger of her foot as if she knew exactly where to touch. She slipped three fingers into her pussy while keeping the other hand on her clit, and at the same time she sped up the foot against my cock. The three of us were being fucked at once: her by her fingers, me by her feet, and the bus’s silence filled with muffled gasps, the wet sound of her fingers going in and out, and the sloshing of my cock sliding between her semen-smeared soles.

—Suck them —she said suddenly, lifting one foot toward my face—. Suck my toes, Adrián. Put them in your mouth. All of them.

I grabbed her ankle and brought her foot to my mouth. I licked the whole sole, from heel to toes, tasting the salty sweat of the whole day in heels. I took her big toe into my mouth and sucked it deep, as if it were a tiny cock, while she threw her head back and let out a muffled moan. I sucked each one of them, all five, nibbling them, running my tongue between them, burying my nose in the arch of her foot. With the other foot she kept jerking me off, and I could feel my orgasm bearing down on me with no way to stop it.

—Marina, I’m about to cum —I panted, with her foot still pressed to my mouth.

—On top of my feet —she ordered, squeezing those three fingers deep inside her pussy—. I want you to cum on top of my feet. All of it. Leave them soaked with your milk.

I let go of her foot and she placed both feet together, soles up, forming a kind of cradle at the level of my cock. I grabbed it with my hand, stroked it two, three times, and came in streams over the soles and toes. It was a long, thick orgasm, falling in spurts over her feet, sliding along the instep, slipping between her toes, dripping down to her ankle. At the same time Marina pressed her clit with the palm of her hand and smothered her own orgasm by biting the back of her other hand, with those three fingers still buried to the hilt, her whole thigh trembling, shaking silently in the seat so as not to give us away to the driver, who kept driving, oblivious to everything.

When we finished, Marina didn’t pull her feet away. On the contrary: she moved them over my cock, still hard, still dripping, smearing her toes with my semen, rubbing it over my sensitive glans until I groaned more than I should have. Then she brought one foot to her hand and ran two fingers over the sole, collecting my cum, and put them in her mouth without taking her eyes off me.

—It’s fucking delicious —she whispered—. And there’s plenty more, right?

We looked into each other’s eyes. There was no need to say anything. Something had sparked between us that can’t be explained with words, one of those chemistries that appear once in a very long while and almost always with strangers.

I helped her clean up with a couple of tissues I had in my pocket, wiping them carefully over her feet, between her toes, over the instep. We straightened our clothes, in silence, with half-smiles. There were two stops left until mine.

—The next one is yours —Marina said, looking out the window. It wasn’t a question.

—How do you know?

—I decided it —she replied, and leaned in to kiss me.

It was a slow kiss, with tongue, with all the complicity in the world, the kind that tastes like what comes next. She bit my lip when she pulled away and smiled. When the bus braked, she was still barefoot, her red heels hanging from two fingers.

—I’m not putting them back on —she said, standing up with me—. You promised me another massage. And I owe you a proper blowjob. With that cock, I’m not settling for feet.

We got off together onto an empty street, she barefoot on the still-warm asphalt, me behind her, still unable to believe my luck. The bus pulled away with its emergency lights on, and we were left there, in the middle of the night, deciding—or rather, her deciding—where to go next.