What Happened with the Driver That Stormy Night

Working nights in a bar like that, where the light always seems insufficient, wears you down in a way I can’t really describe. It’s not the fatigue in your legs or your back: it’s the fatigue of smiling when you don’t feel like it, putting up with the customer who slaps the bar asking for another round as if you had all night, cleaning up the table that the kids who shouldn’t have been there at eleven turned into a battlefield.

The uniform didn’t help either. Short black skirt, fitted blouse with the venue’s logo, heels that already knew the exact outline of my blisters. My coworker Rosario said the owner designed it that way on purpose, so our tits and ass would show under the red bar light. I didn’t argue with her.

I live on the other side of the city, so when I finish the night shift I have to run if I don’t want to miss the last bus. The line leaves the stop at eleven twenty. If I miss it, the alternative is a cab I can’t afford or waiting four hours for the first one in the morning.

The driver on that line is named Bernardo. He’s in his early fifties, with big hands, graying hair, and a way of looking in the rearview mirror that from the first day made me feel watched. Not in an uncomfortable way —I noticed that right away—, but with that quiet attention some men have when something genuinely matters to them. From the second week on, he would save me the seat behind the cab. I’d arrive running, get on out of breath, and the seat was always free.

My coworkers called him the Stud. Rubén, who lived near the stop, mentioned it casually one afternoon and laughed while looking at my cleavage. I didn’t ask why.

***

For the months I worked nights, the routine was always the same. Bernardo would greet me with a nod. I’d put in my headphones and fall asleep with my forehead against the cold glass, the sound of the engine in the background. Sometimes, between the music and sleep, I’d notice the bus slowing down before my stop even when there was no traffic. He did it gently, so he wouldn’t wake me all at once. I noticed that too, though I didn’t say anything.

One night an elderly woman got on at the last moment and I gave her my seat. The bus was completely full and I stood by the cab, holding the handrail behind him. Bernardo slid the seat back to make me a little more room. I ended up resting my arm on the back of his chair, so close I could smell the cheap soap on his shirt.

—How was your day? —he asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

—Don’t ask me.

He laughed. He had a low laugh, almost soundless, more noticeable in his shoulders than on his face. My coworkers at the back of the bus started making noise, jokes, whistles. I ended up talking to him the whole ride without really knowing how it happened.

From then on, we talked. About anything: traffic, the summer heat, whether coffee with milk tastes better in a glass or a cup. One night he asked if I liked driving.

—I never learned —I told him.

—I’ll teach you someday —he answered.

He said it seriously, in that even voice he used for everything, and I couldn’t answer because I saw my husband waiting below at the stop, hands in his pockets.

My husband. Rodrigo. Eight years together, three married. For almost a year we’d been living in the same house like two people splitting expenses and little else. Debt was the only thing we talked about, and even then we couldn’t agree. He hadn’t fucked me in months. Months of sleeping with our backs turned, months of slipping two fingers into my pussy in the shower so I wouldn’t go crazy.

Bernardo kept saving me the seat. I kept getting on without saying much. But some nights, when the bus was almost empty and the city slept beyond the window, I’d stare at his hands on the wheel. Hands that had nothing special about them and yet I couldn’t stop looking at them. I’d imagine those thick fingers prying my legs open, those knuckles sinking between my thighs, the open palm squeezing one of my tits until I was gasping. I’d get home wet, with my panties stuck to my pussy, and lock myself in the bathroom to finish what my imagination had started.

***

The night everything changed started badly from the beginning.

I argued with Rodrigo before leaving over the month’s bills. I lost the locker key sometime during my shift and had to leave my bag inside without being able to lock it. When I realized, it was almost eleven and my coworkers had already run off toward the stop. I left behind them in uniform —the shortest skirt of all, the top that wouldn’t keep you warm even in August—, without a coat, without money on me, without a phone.

The bus wasn’t at the stop.

I was left alone as the sky suddenly burst into rain. One of those city downpours that soak you to the bone in thirty seconds. I got under the little roof at the stop, which offered ridiculous protection, and waited without knowing what else to do. The wet blouse clung to my chest until my nipples stood out through the fabric from the cold.

They didn’t take long to appear. Two men who smelled of alcohol from far away, laughing among themselves, looking for conversation with whoever they found. They looked at me. They came closer. The taller one stopped in front of me with that smile that wasn’t a smile.

—How much do you charge, sweetheart?

I didn’t have time to answer.

—Hey!

The voice came from the street. Bernardo was walking toward us from the other side of the road, where he’d parked the bus. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t shouting. He walked slowly, with that calm that sometimes is more frightening than any threat. The two men squared off against him. I’m not going to describe what happened in the next three minutes, except to say that I understood why they called him the Stud and that I had to grab his arm to get him to stop.

—The last route broke down on me —he explained afterward, still breathing hard—. As soon as I could, I came. Get on.

***

The bus was empty. He lent me the jacket he kept in the cab and I put it over my wet uniform, shivering more from nerves than from cold.

I sat in my usual place, behind him. This time I didn’t put in my headphones. I kept staring at his hands on the wheel: the sure movement, the forearm muscles standing out every time he shifted gears, the wet white shirt stuck to his back.

Bernardo was looking at me in the rearview mirror. I didn’t look away.

—Still want me to teach you how to drive? —he said.

—Right now —I answered.

He slowed down on a long, dark stretch of road, with no traffic in sight. I got up, went to the cab, and before he could move I gently pushed him back in the seat and sat down with my back to him, my hands on the wheel.

Bernardo put his hands on my waist, slowly, asking without asking. I let them stay there. And slowly I made them go up, one to each tit under the wet blouse. He squeezed them himself, as if he’d been waiting months to do it. He pinched my nipples between his index finger and thumb, and I threw my head back against his shoulder, unable to stop a moan.

—The clutch is on the left —he murmured near my ear, voice rough.

—I know where the clutch is.

—I figured.

One of those thick hands slid down my belly, slipped under my short skirt, and parted my panties with two fingers. He touched me for the first time, there, with his open palm covering my whole pussy. I was soaked, and not from rain.

—Look how wet you are —he whispered—. You’ve been like this for months, haven’t you?

—Shut up and put them in me.

He shoved two fingers inside me at once. My back arched and I let out a gasp that sounded out of place inside the empty bus. He moved them slowly, curving them upward, while with his other hand he kept groping my tits over my bra. I felt his chest against my back, his breathing changing pace, his hard cock pressing into me from behind through his pants. The bus moved straight ahead and outside it kept raining. In the rearview mirror our eyes met the same way they had been meeting for months in that same glass, but this time neither of us looked away.

Bernardo stopped the bus under a streetlamp on the secondary road. He pulled his fingers out of my pussy, brought them to his mouth slowly, and sucked them while staring at me hard in the rearview mirror.

—You taste like what I was thinking about —he said.

He made me turn slowly until I was sitting on his lap, facing him. He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, carefully, as if measuring the consequences of what was about to happen.

—You’ve been in my head a long time —he said.

—I know —I answered.

And I kissed him.

***

We undressed in a hurry, throwing our wet clothes onto the back seats. Outside, the rain came down harder. Inside there was only us and the sound of water striking the metal roof.

Bernardo had the body of someone who’s worked with his hands all his life: no showiness, no perfection, but with a solidity that made everything else seem temporary. When he pulled his pants down I saw his cock for the first time, and I understood the nickname once and for all. Thick, hard, pointing up against his belly, with visible veins and a shiny drop at the tip. I didn’t even think about what I was doing. I knelt between his legs on the cab floor and took him into my mouth without preamble.

Bernardo let out a low groan, almost in surprise, and sank his fingers into my hair. I sucked him all the way, deep, until I felt the head hitting the back of my throat and tears came to my eyes. I pulled my mouth off, wiped the strand of saliva from my chin, and took him in again more slowly, licking underneath him, playing with my tongue around the glans. I took him lower and sucked his balls one by one while I worked him with a slow handjob.

—Fuck —he muttered—. Fuck, like that.

I’d pull him out of my mouth only to sink him back in again to the hilt. I could feel the hot tip knocking against the roof of my mouth, the salty taste of precum coating my tongue. When I felt his thighs tremble, I let him go. I didn’t want him to come yet.

I climbed on top of him, in the driver’s seat, pushing my panties aside myself. I grabbed his cock and placed it at the entrance to my pussy. I lowered myself slowly. He opened me up from the inside centimeter by centimeter, and I had to bite my lip not to scream at how full I suddenly felt. It had been so long since any cock had made me feel like that.

His hands on my hips, firm but not forcing, letting me set the pace. At first slowly, feeling things out, going up and down a little at a time until I got used to the thickness. Then faster, bouncing on him with my tits in his face, while the rain beat on the windshield and the fogged glass hid us from the world.

He sucked my nipples one after the other, biting them softly, tugging them with his teeth until I dug my nails into his shoulders. I could feel his cock going in and out, wet, shining each time it came almost all the way out and plunged back to the hilt. The seat creaked. The bus smelled of sex, rain, and cheap shirt soap.

—Turn around —I told him, panting—. I want to feel you deeper.

I climbed down, braced my hands against the wheel, ass out, skirt bunched up at my waist. He stood behind me in the little space of the cab, grabbed my hips, and thrust into me in one hard stroke. I let out a rough cry, muffled against my arm. He started fucking me like that, hard, dry, hands clamping my ass, with the same calm with which he drove now turned into a quiet, devastating force shaking me to the core.

The horn honked twice when my hand slipped on the wheel. It made us both laugh without stopping fucking.

—Like that —he said in a low voice, driving into me with every word—. Like that, don’t move.

He pushed one finger, wet with saliva, into my ass while still fucking me from the front. I arched, forehead pressed to the fogged glass, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I came in a long shudder, my pussy squeezing his cock, biting my lip so I wouldn’t scream the name of a man I barely knew. I felt the orgasm run down my thighs, soak me through, make my knees shake.

He came shortly after. He pulled out at the very last second, turned me so I was kneeling in front of him, and came in my open mouth and on my tits with his hands clenched in my hair and a low, restrained sound that I liked more than any word that night. Thick, hot, spurts falling between my lips and down my chin. I swallowed it slowly, never taking my eyes off him, while he breathed in ragged bursts with his head thrown back against the seat’s headrest.

***

We got dressed unhurriedly. Bernardo started the bus and resumed the route in silence. I stayed in the cab seat beside him, with his jacket still over my shoulders and my panties tucked in my pocket, because they were so soaked they were useless anyway.

The silence between us had changed. It was no longer the silence of two people measuring each other. It was a different kind of silence.

When I saw the lights of my neighborhood appear in the distance, I looked out the window. Rodrigo was at the stop with the black umbrella, waiting.

I don’t know what happened to me in that moment. A strange calm, as if my body made the decision before my head did. I slipped from the seat down onto the cab floor without making a sound, knelt between his legs, and unbuttoned his pants again. Bernardo didn’t say anything, just tightened his fingers a little on the wheel.

I took him out. He was already half hard again just from seeing me down there. I took him all the way into my mouth, deep, and started sucking him slowly while he drove with one hand on the wheel and the other barely brushing my hair. My tongue around the glans, my lips tight moving up and down, my hand at the base moving in the same rhythm.

Through the windshield I watched the streetlights go by one after another. The stop was getting closer. Rodrigo standing there with the umbrella, not knowing that twenty meters from him his wife had the driver’s cock down her throat.

I sped up. I took him deeper, until I felt the gag reflex threatening to give me away, and I held it. My tongue working underneath him, my cheeks hollowed around the cock, swallowing saliva over it to lubricate it more. I felt Bernardo tense up, heard his breathing catch, heard the low grunt rise from his chest when he couldn’t hold back anymore, and when he came we were already twenty meters from the stop. He filled my mouth all at once, hot spurts hitting the back of my palate. I swallowed it all calmly, not losing a drop, licking the tip afterward to clean him properly. I sat back up, buttoned his pants, ran my hand over my mouth.

The doors opened.

I got off through the front door and kissed Rodrigo on the cheek, with another man’s taste still on my lips. I started walking home without looking back.

Bernardo closed the doors. I watched the bus pull away through the rain, headlights on, purring softly between the puddles.

At the next stop, I later learned from my coworkers, the seat behind the cab was still reserved for me.