From: wet@myplace.com (BaronS)
Subject: Alone in the night
Date: 1999/04/17
Message-ID: <371814d7.3337046@news.penn.com>
X-Trace: newsfeed.slurp.net 924314383 208.22.28.85 (Fri, 16 Apr 
1999 20:59:43 CDT)
NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 16 Apr 1999 20:59:43 CDT
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories


This story is fiction, so enjoy it or piss off.

			Alone in the Night
				by
			          BaronS

	It was late, very late.  The bus was silent and dark around
her as Margaret climbed onto the second tier.  The driver barely
glanced her way as she went.  In her seat, alone with her thoughts
and the shadows, she tried not to think of her empty life as
the bus rambled down the cobblestone street.
	She failed.  Her mind drifted away, seeing missed
opportunites, missed loves.  She blinked at the tears that
threatened to flow.  She would not.  Thirty years old, she
whispered to herself, and without a lover's caress, or passion,
to think back on in the dark of the night.
	She was not ugly, quite the opposite, she knew.  Her figure
was slim, her legs long and smooth.  The breasts under her
sweater were full and heavy, aching for a lover's touch.  Always
aching.
	She pushed the thought away.  She would not.  Not here
and not again.  Never again.
	Her thoughts jumped back to reality as she realized the 
bus had stopped.
	They marched onto the upper deck like a silent army, six
of them in their black robes.  Their faces pale and somber, like
the nuns she remembered from school, eyes down-cast.
	Margaret tried to look away, to not notice the first three
as they filed into the seat behind hers, or the next two as
they slipped in to either side of her, or the last in the seat
directly in front of her.  The bus was empty, why had they
surrounded her?
	Still, complete silence.
	Margaret made a hushed apology, began to rise, and then
their hands were upon her, all at once, gentle, yet resolute
and undeniable.  Her arms were clasped from behind, drawing
her back into her seat as the bus rolled on.  A third pair of
hands slid a cloth veil around and over her mouth before she
could give voice to her shock and alarm.
	And still they were silent.
	The nuns to either side of her had turned, their hands
at first pressing her thighs back onto the seat, then sliding around
to the catch of her long, pleated, cotton skirt, opening it.
	Margaret tried to squirm free as their intentions became
obvious, but their hands held like iron.  She watched as the
long skirt was drawn down her legs, baring her white cotton
underpants, and the lacy white garter belt which held up her
stockings.  She blushed as her secret underthings were revealed
to their cold gazes.
	The hands continued, unfastening the garters, then the
belt, sliding under the waistband of her panties to push them
over her hips.  Their cool fingers brushed lightly against her
curls, touched briefly her sex, and she gasped.  She felt her skin
flush, hot, as she was stripped, her pulse raced, the fear and
embarrassment mingling within her.
	She felt herself growing wet down there, shamelessly,
beneath the soft mat of red hair that was now visible to all.  The
hands were merciless, stripping every vestige of covering
from her waist down to her toes, then lifting the pile and 
depositing it next to the nun ahead of her.
	She alone had not turned, remained oblivious to what was
going on.
	The hands which had gagged her suddenly dropped to grasp
her breasts, kneading them through her sweater, and the touch
made her instantly aware of her nipples.  They had grown hard
and demanding, responding automatically to the marauding hands
and bringing a moan of pleasure unbidden from her lips.
	Those at her sides now turned their attention upward,
lifting the hem of her sweater, working with those from behind
to pull he arms free, draw the cloth over her head.  Just as
quickly, her bra, lacy and sheer, was slipped from her, leaving
her bare and shivering among their black robes and relentless
hands.  her body gleamed like white marble in the darkness,
her breasts rising and falling with each panting breath, her
nipples quivering with shameless, animal need.
	The hands once again dropped to hold her aching breasts,
rolling the stiff nipples between their cold fingers while
Margaret squirmed with growing passion.  She had lost control
of her own body as they stroked the fires within her.
	The women beside her drew apart her pale thighs, and she
felt the lips of her virgin sex, overflowing with her wetness,
opening.  She no longer struggled, spreading herself willingly
for their gaze, wanting them to look at her there, to touch
her there.
	The cowled faces sank to her heaving breasts, replacing
the teasing fingers with hungry lips.  her back arched, urging her
breasts upward, toward their relentless tongues, eager for the
attention.
	She moaned wildly, surprising herself, and, as her hips
were pulled gently forward on the narrow seat, watched as the
sixth nun finally turned, her face hidden by the shadows within
her cowl.  This last drew from her robes a pale, slender shaft,
a candle, carved from wax and shaped like the sexual member
of a man, strong and thick.  The woman rose up, leaning over
the back of her seat, and lowered the wax cock between Margaret's
sweaty and trembling thighs.
	Her cry of pain was muffled by the gag as they took her
virginity in one quick stroke, then the pain was washed away
by the sensations that spread like fire through her loins.  Her
hips rose in response to each of the nun's strokes, fiercer
and more insistent with each one, and the orgasm that built
within her body was unlike any she had ever given herself.
	And then it was there, exploding, white-hot, within her
like a star, sweeping the world away before it, and her body
thrashed with spasm after aching spasm of wild, shuddering delight.
	The bus lurched, suddenly, as it struck a hole in the cobbled
road, and Margaret's eyes flew open.  Her free hand shot out in
time to catch herself and keep from falling off the narrow seat.
Glancing around nervously, she relaxed, seeing that she was 
still alone, the world still dark with night.
	Drawing her left hand from beneath the long pleated skirt,
she bent down and snatched up the underpants tangled about her
ankles.  Still looking around in nervous fear, she wiped her
slick fingers with the soft cotton and leaned back, slowly
getting her breath back under control.
	She looked to the underpants in her hand, thought a minute,
then quickly shoved them into the leather purse at her side, drawing
forth a small notebook and pen.
	The night air was cool against her skin, soothing, down
there where she was now so incredibly wet.  Drawing one foot up
onto the seat, she pulled the skirt about her waist and let the
night breeze caress her as she began to write the fantasy down
in the notebook.
	Another puff of cool air slithered between her hot thighs
and Margaret shivered, sighing at the touch.  She should cover
herself, cover IT.  If someone should see, or even suspect,
she would die of shame.  Unconsciously, her palm pressed into
her soft thigh, sliding across and into her lap.
	It was going to be a long ride home, she knew.
	She shouldn't.
	Glancing at the words she had written on the page,
she knew there was more to say.  More she wanted to write, to
live, tonight.  She set the notebook and pen down, then quickly
reached back and undid the catch of her skirt, dropping the cloth
to the floor of the bus.
	If anyone should see her like this...
	Settling back onto the seat, she lifted her feet onto the 
back of the seat back before her and spread herself open to the 
starry
night. Her left hand betrayed her, as it always did, sliding
into the damp red curls as she reached for the pen with her
trembling right.
	"Sometimes people have to be alone in the night," she 
wrote.  "But that doesn't mean they can't enjoy it." 
 

				the end?



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