I Found Out What It Was Like as Luna on That Bus

After that night in the rural hotel room, everything changed a little more between us. If what happened the first time had already knocked me off balance, what came the next day was what finally pushed me over the edge.

I woke up before Bruno. The light came in filtered through a cheap curtain and it smelled of rumpled sheets, dried semen, of the two bodies that had spent half the night fucking on that mattress. It took me a couple of seconds to remember where I was, until I felt my feet. They felt heavy, sore on the insteps, because I had fallen asleep with my heels on. Bruno was still beside me, naked, one arm crossed over his chest and his mouth slightly open. His cock, soft, hung against his thigh, still shiny with the last cumshot from the early hours.

I took them off slowly so as not to make a noise and went to the bathroom. When I sat down on the toilet I realized that something had run down between my thighs. It was part of what he had left inside me hours earlier, a thread of thick white semen dripping from my cunt to the inside of my thigh, mixed with dried saliva and a smell unlike anything I knew. I closed my eyes. This is what I am now. I slid two fingers between the lips of my cunt, pulled them out covered, and instead of wiping myself with toilet paper I brought them to my mouth. I sucked them slowly, tasting what he had left in me. The memory of the night hit me all at once—his cock buried down my throat, his hands squeezing my tits while he fucked me from behind, the first hot load inside—and I blushed all by myself, sitting in that tiny bathroom, with my fingers still in my mouth.

I cleaned myself up calmly, washed my face, and went back to the room. Bruno already had his eyes open. He looked at me without moving, with that half smile he gets when he still hasn’t spoken and already knows what he’s going to ask for.

—Good morning, Luna —he said.

I didn’t answer. I climbed onto the bed from his side and ran a hand over his chest. The sheet was up to his waist, and underneath you could tell he’d been like that for a while, his cock pressing against the fabric. I pulled the sheet aside and found it hard, thick, the vein on the shaft clearly outlined and the head already peeking out. I wrapped my hand around it. It was hard, hot, and I hadn’t had breakfast.

—Am I waking you up right? —I asked in a low voice, squeezing him from the base.

—Wake me up —he said, and let himself fall back with his hands behind his head.

I ran my tongue underneath it, from the balls to the tip, in one slow lick. That already drew a low moan out of him. I kissed the head, sucked it like it was a piece of candy, and then took it into my mouth without any preamble. The night before it had been hard for me at first, but by then, with the taste of toothpaste on my tongue and my body still relaxed from sleep, I took it in almost on the third try. I worked slowly, up and down, pressing my lips against the shaft, letting him feel my throat when I rested my chin against his balls. I sucked them one at a time, first one, then the other, while I kept jerking him with my hand. Then I went back to his cock and took it all the way down, letting the tip hit the back of my palate. Tears came to my eyes and I drooled all over him, and he dug his fingers into my hair, not to guide me, but to hold my head in place.

—Like that, Luna, like that —he murmured—. Suck it like that, you little whore.

I answered him with my eyes and my tongue: yes. I wrapped my lips around the base and swallowed him whole again, until my throat closed around the head and I let out a rough sound I couldn’t swallow. Bruno moaned louder. He gripped my nape, not violently, firmly, and kept me down for two seconds, then three. I felt his cock throb against my uvula. He let me breathe, and as soon as I took air he shoved it back down my throat. I held out as long as I could, savoring every thrust, drool running down my chin to my tits. It took less than I expected. In one moment, without warning, he grabbed my neck with both hands and filled my throat. I felt the first hot spurt go straight down into my esophagus, then a second, a third, thick, viscous, a breakfast of semen so dense I could barely process it. It was hard to swallow, but I didn’t spill a drop. I stayed still for a couple of seconds, heart racing and his cock still inside my mouth, feeling his thighs relax against my face. When I pulled him out, I ran my tongue over the tip to collect the last drop and showed him my empty mouth, tongue clean.

—Thanks, pretty girl. I hope you liked breakfast.

I stuck out my tongue, laughing, and let myself fall down beside him. How could I not like it. I liked everything about him: how he treated me, how he spoke to me, how he used me without ever treating me like trash. I had decided on my own, without him asking me, that I was going to be his personal little whore. And there was no turning back.

Bruno went into the shower. I took the chance to get dressed. I’d brought a change of clothes, less daring than the night before because the idea was to wear it only to go back to the bus. A floral dress I’d borrowed from a friend without asking, too thin for the weather, but with a cut above the knee that suited me. Underneath I put on cotton panties and a padded bra that gave my small chest a little shape, enough. Low sandals so I wouldn’t kill myself walking.

I sat down in front of the little mirror on the wardrobe and did my makeup calmly. I’d been practicing at home with tutorials: foundation, concealer, a touch of blush, subtle lining around the eyes. Nothing flashy. When I finished, I looked at myself and barely recognized me. I wasn’t a stunning woman, but I passed. A petite, thin, young girl in a summer dress, with a bit of mascara and glossy lips.

Bruno came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and stopped for a second in the doorway.

—Stay like that all day —he said.

I felt a jolt in my stomach.

—All day? —I asked—. Outside?

—All day. Outside.

I laughed nervously and turned back to the mirror. This is different. One thing is the hotel, another is the street. And yet, while I was telling myself that, I was already imagining myself leaving on his arm, walking through the town square, pretending to be a normal girlfriend. It was so absurd it scared me. It was so exciting it scared me even more.

***

I made him breakfast in that tiny apartment kitchen. Bruno was looking at me as if he saw me for the first time, sitting at the table with a white T-shirt and a coffee in front of him.

—It suits you —he said—. More than you think.

—I don’t know if I’m going to be able to go out like this.

—You will —he answered—. And you’ll enjoy it.

I thought about it while washing two cups that didn’t need washing. I looked at myself again in the window glass. If I made it through without anyone pointing, I could do it. If someone noticed something, I couldn’t. My whole peace of mind depended on the gaze of a bunch of strangers in a town we were never going back to. I repeated that to myself five times before my hands stopped shaking.

We left midmorning. Bruno took my hand as soon as we closed the apartment door, and I appreciated that gesture more than any kiss from the night before. We crossed a narrow walkway with flowerpots on the walls and went down toward the square. The sun was beating straight down. I was stiff for the first few meters, speaking only when necessary, hiding behind a pair of sunglasses I’d brought on instinct.

No one looked at us in any special way. That was what finally loosened me up. An older woman with a shopping cart smiled at us as we passed. A group of kids walked by without lifting their heads from their phones. A couple of old men on a bench kept arguing about football as if we were invisible. I relaxed step by step. Ten minutes later, I was walking with my back straight and my hips a little looser, imitating what I’d seen my cousin do. Bruno squeezed my hand.

—You’re doing it perfectly —he whispered.

We went all the way around the square. We had coffee on a terrace, where I ordered in a very low voice, almost out of breath, and the waitress treated me like any other customer. We paid. Bruno left an exaggerated tip, I suppose out of gratitude for not saying anything weird. We left there walking toward the taxi stand, and for the first time since I’d gotten dressed, I felt something like calm.

***

The taxi driver was waiting with the door open, smoking. He was an older man, with the radio playing softly. Bruno sat in the front. I sat in back, legs together and my bag on my knees.

—To the bus station? —the driver asked.

—To the station.

He pulled off. Bruno and he started chatting right away. There, any five-minute conversation could end up lasting half an hour, and this guy was the chatty type.

—So what did you think of the town? You’re not from here, that much is obvious.

—A wonder —Bruno answered, and caught my eye in the rearview mirror with a wink only the two of us understood—. We’ve enjoyed it a lot, haven’t we, love?

I let out a “very much” almost without a voice.

—You make a lovely couple —the driver said—. And the bride even prettier, if I may say so.

My throat closed up. I managed to get out a “thank you” that sounded sharper than usual, as if I’d been training for that thank you all morning. Bruno laughed softly.

—She’s a wonderful woman —he said, looking at me again through the mirror.

The rest of the ride I stayed quiet, eyes on the window. Inside I was shaking with pride. A stranger, a sixty-year-old man, had called me “the bride” and no one had made a strange face. I felt something like a piece clicking into place.

***

The station had four platforms and lots of open space. Bruno went to buy the tickets while I waited on a bench, staring at signs without seeing them. When he came back, he pulled me by the elbow toward platform three. We got on a nearly empty bus. There was an older couple in the second row and a guy with headphones five rows behind. Bruno gently pushed me toward the back. The entire last row was free.

—Here —he said, giving me the window seat.

It would have been a quiet trip. I would have liked to say that.

The bus got onto the highway, and as soon as we passed the town sign the air conditioning started blowing a stream of cold air that gave me goosebumps. I wasn’t used to wearing a dress. I pressed my knees together and crossed my arms. Bruno glanced sideways at me, saw the problem, and instead of giving me his jacket, put his hand on my thigh.

—We’re going to warm you up —he said, very low.

He slid his hand above my knee, slowly, unhurriedly, as if he were measuring my thigh. The older couple was ten rows ahead. The guy with the headphones had his head against the glass, sunk into his music. No one could see us from there. Even so, I felt every heartbeat in my ears. I brushed his hand away with mine.

—Not here —I murmured—. They’ll hear us.

—No one can hear us.

He slid it back under my dress, this time more decisively. He found my panties with two fingers and moved them aside. I felt the pad of one finger pass over my cunt, gliding through the wetness that had already gathered there without permission. He smiled. And then, before I could react, he hooked the elastic and pulled my panties down to my ankles in one motion. I took them off and he stuffed them into his pants pocket with a calm that left me no argument, after first bringing them to his nose to smell me, as if he needed to confirm that I was wet.

—Turn around —he said in my ear—. Face the window. Open your legs.

—Bruno…

—Turn around.

I obeyed. I turned toward the glass, rested my temple against the cold plastic, lifted one knee a little toward the seat. My dress rode up on its own to my waist. My naked ass was exposed to him, hidden behind the backrest of the row in front. Bruno moistened two fingers with saliva and started feeling for my pussy. He traced the lips with his fingertips, up and down, without putting anything in yet. When he reached my clit he made two slow circles and pinched it between his index and thumb. I wasn’t breathing. I muffled the moan against the glass. Adrenaline surged up my stomach in waves, and between the cold of the air conditioning and the heat of his hand, I didn’t know if I wanted him to stop or keep going.

He kept going.

He slipped one finger in first, very slowly. I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t make a sound. I felt myself opening around him, the fingertip scraping over my already soaked walls. He pulled it out, pushed it back in, this time to the knuckle. Then a second. He started moving them patiently, without setting a rhythm, letting my own body adjust. He curled them upward and found that spot that made me clench my ass without meaning to. He found it. He started rubbing it, two fingers buried to the hilt, his palm bumping my clit every time he pushed. Every time the bus hit a bump, his fingers went a couple of millimeters deeper and I had to bite my lip not to cry out.

—You’re soaked, you little whore —he whispered, his mouth against my ear—. I can hear your cunt sloshing. Do you like me doing this with all those people in front of us?

I nodded with my forehead against the glass. I couldn’t say anything. He pulled his fingers out, showed them to me shiny in front so I could see them, and shoved them back in, this time three. All three at once. He opened me with them, pushed them in until his hand hit my vulva, and started fucking me with his wrist in a slow, dull rhythm. The sound of my pussy dripping filled the space between the two seats, barely covered by the bus engine. My mouth hung open against the plastic, panting silently, leaving a fogged patch.

—If they hear you, everyone will know what you are —he whispered—. Everyone will know you’re a slut who spreads her legs on a bus while her boyfriend fingers her.

That finished me off. Not the physical movement, but the sentence. I bit my forearm so I wouldn’t let out a moan and came over his fingers, squeezing them inside me with spasms I couldn’t hide. I felt the jolt race up from my thighs to my nape. I soaked his hand, my dress, the seat. I closed my eyes. Bruno pulled his fingers out slowly, with a wet sound that made me clamp my thighs in embarrassment, and without looking at me he held his hand out in front of me, palm up. There was a little puddle of my juices there, mixed with his saliva, shining.

—Clean it —he said.

I looked at him. He looked at me. He knew exactly what he was asking for. I lowered my head and ran my tongue over the palm of his hand, slowly, until it was dry. I sucked each finger separately, taking them to the knuckle, as if I were sucking a tiny cock. It tasted strange, salty, faintly metallic, humiliating, mine. I swallowed it. He cleaned the rest from the corner of my lip with his thumb and put it in my mouth too so I could suck that as well. I did, looking him in the eyes, my tongue circling his fingertip. When he took it out, he brought it to his own mouth and sucked it slowly, never taking his eyes off me.

—Good girl —he said.

I sat back properly, pulled my dress down, smoothed my hair. My legs were trembling and my panties were still in his pocket. Bruno, without saying a word, put his arm over my shoulders and pulled me against his side. The rest of the trip really was, now, a quiet trip. Three hours looking out the window, with his hand on my thigh, not moving, reminding me that I hadn’t done any of that alone.

***

When we got off the bus, I changed shoes in the station bathroom, washed my face, and took Luna off with a couple of wipes. I was me again in five minutes, in regular pants and a T-shirt, just like when I’d left. Bruno was waiting outside with my bag over his shoulder, and my panties still in his pocket.

—Are you okay? —he asked.

—Better than okay.

I wasn’t lying. That morning, that taxi driver, that bus, had confirmed something I’d sensed for years and never known how to name. That I liked being dominated by him. That I liked being seen as a woman. That above all, I liked the combination of the two, in that order. I asked him to make sure that wasn’t the last time.

And it wasn’t. But that part I’ll tell another day.