Tried writing a story (not this story) before, didn't work out as well as I'd hoped. But I've got a clearer vision now, and more experience and so I'm hoping that this comes off as delightful as its making me tingle.
Feel free to drop some constructive criticism in the comments. Thanks, love!
*****
"Hello Sweetheart."
The voice that wrapped around his ear was familiar, and it sent a chill down his navel. His breath caught, and he grabbed the pole in front of him. As if as startled as he, the bus jolted, throwing him into it. He gripped hard. Fear and humiliation filled his throat until it ached as he glanced around himself but certainly not back at the source of the voice. He couldn't. Schrödingers Cat, he thought, if he didn't acknowledge it was there, it wasn't there.
As always, the bus was packed by the time it hit Julliarde Avenue, and he had no space to move... well, except towards the back of the bus, where there was a small gap and a single open seat. But after last time, he preferred to stay near the front. Maybe those facing in this direction would notice, would say something. There was a knot in his throat, trying to climb upward, yell, scream, kick, make noise. But just like last time, his body stood unmoving. Don't make a scene, said his brain. It will only make everyone stare. Freak.
One might ask why he rode Bus 211, the same bus on the same route after "last time". Well, it was the only bus that came close to him, and he couldn't walk to the next one. Last spring, he fell down the stairs and fractured his foot. He wore a boot for 3 months, but never could walk long distances in sneakers after everything was supposedly healed. He attempted to go to the doctor for stronger pain meds, but the man refused to prescribe any unless he consented to surgery that he couldn't afford. They offered him public assistance to pay for the surgery, but since his employer offered a plan, he wasn't eligible. Problem was, the plan cost a fortune, had a copay higher than what he would have left in his check, and barely covered anything. And in order to get to the next bus stop, he would have to walk 10 miles and leave 2 hours earlier.
So, here he was, on the only bus that arrived every morning 15 blocks from his home at 7:30 A.M., 15 minutes into the hour bus ride he took to work, jostled and trapped by the man standing behind him. Maybe that was one of the details clogging the sound in his throat. If he'd tried harder, he might have found a less convenient but alternative route to work, and he wouldn't be in this situation.
He felt another breath on his ear, stubble against his shoulder. "Back, eh? One might think you wanted me to find you again." The young man leaned against the pole, begging the cold metal to cool the warm pink flush rising his on his chest as his heartbeat bruised his rib cage. He said nothing, and tried slowly to squeeze past the man towards the handle behind the bus driver.
A slap of flesh on metal made him jump as the man blocked his path, gripping the pole just above his own hands. He looked to the side, eyes wide as the forearm pressed against his upper arm. The difference was striking, as always, his pale skin as white as a sheet compared to this mans dark tanned skin, black arm hair making him seem even darker. The mans muscles jumped as the bus jostled them, holding his ground. The bus, the people, even the young man himself seemed to rock, but this man was like an unmoving statue. He felt the mans arm and torso press against his, causing him to stumble. The man reached out a hand, grasping his more slender hip, stabilizing him. He felt his skin burn where the mans thumb shifted under his shirt and grazed his pale skin.
He felt a whimper die in his throat as he felt corralled and shifted towards the back of the bus. They stopped near the back, and the larger man dropped his large bag down onto the cracked, plastic yellow seat.
"What is your name, sweetheart?" the man asked, still holding his hip. "We never did get introduced last time, but I certainly had fun." He paused, waited... the young man didn't answer. His fingers curved on his hips, and his fingernails dug into his flesh. "What is your name?" he said, a threat in his voice this time.
The young man choked, nearly thrown into the window over the black zippered bag in front of him. He was caught around the torso by the larger man, who grabbed his wrist and yanked it upwards, where he grasped the overhead bar. "Danny... D-Daniel..." he whispered under his breath. At first, confidence rose in him. He could yell now, cause a scene. But a cork rose in his throat, stopping his voice again. They would stare.
"Daniel... Well hello Daniel." He whispered, his lips moving against his ear. His fingers slid over Danny's skin, around his hip bone, where it dipped nearing his navel. "You are an exotic person, Daniel, with your patchwork skin. It looks mostly pale, except the olive spot on your right eye. By your temples... And these spots..." The fingers of his other hand skimmed across the skin exposed by his vneck shirt. "They look like freckles until you get up close. Is it the same everywhere, Daniel?"
Danny squirmed as the mans fingers tickled over his hip. This was different from last time, when he was silent. The man was talkative this time, his voice was rough and gentle at the same time, and definitely curious. He gasped as the stranger curled his fingers on his hips, digging into his skin again. It started to become pink from the abuse. "Aah!... A-Almost... there a-are a few... few patches..." His chest, where the strangers hand now lay flat, began to turn pink again, and warm to the touch. He hated being observed, examined. He hated people staring.
He chuckled in Danny's ear. "You don't like talking about yourself, Daniel. People of this world are cruel and have done you a great disservice." He danced his fingers across his hip more, and enjoyed the feeling of the young man shuddering. Danny gasped, trying to steady his breath as the tickling send tingles all the way to his toes. Just like last time, he felt so very violated. His heart raced. "You know, Daniel, I think people should worship you."
It sounded like a bad pitch that would get a person to sign their life away. He'd cut open his own hand to sell his soul to the devil for that kind of reality, because he used to believe it was possible. He used to think his skin color meant he was special, like he could transcend the world, break barriers, be anyone he wanted to be. He was going to be the worlds first white president!; it was a joke he liked to tell people when they asked him what he wanted to be. If he laughed at himself for his skin condition first, others were less likely to do it. Even when people befriended him just because he was different rather than in spite of it, and enjoyed jokes at his expense, he still felt like he could do anything. That was, until his parents died. It was like they ripped off his wings and each was buried in a separate casket.
Now he stood at the mercy of this stranger, feeling less than wingless, chained to this bar. He willed himself to let go of it, after all it was where HE wanted his hand. But his body refused to obey.
The man behind him brushed his fingertips back and forth on his chest, inching over to his armpit. He danced his fingers over the hollow of his underarm while dancing against the hip with the opposite hand. Danny mewled, humiliated that a stranger would want to do such a thing. His elbow twisted inward as he tried to hide from him. The man tugged at his armpit hair, forcing that blush from his chest to his cheek. His ears felt hot.
Suddenly, the mans hands left him and he sighed, only to realize he was just changing angles. He moved his bag to the floor and the cracked yellow seat groaned under his weight. He wasn't heavy; he was fit, broad shouldered. Schrodinger's cat was tossed out the window at this point, who knew if he was alive or dead, or if he even landed on his feet. The man, his tormentor, sat in front of him, staring up into Danny's mismatched eyes. The man grinned, revealing a somehow genuine joy and curiosity. "I couldn't help myself." the man said, "I wanted to see your face. Look at you. One eye blue, one eye golden brown." Danny looked down, that blush taking over his face. He couldn't figure out why he suddenly cared about this mans opinion enough to call him a liar. The man reached up under his chin and lifted his face. "Don't you hide those eyes from me. I want you to look at me now, don't take your eyes away. Do you understand?" The noise of the bus seemed to stop his voice from carrying too far, but even so, nothing he said has been threatening. Nobody would think twice if they heard.
Danny, lost in the confusion he had over this mans intentions, let out a pained groan as the man pinched the back of his knee through his slacks. "Do you understand?"
"Y-yeah..." He felt another pinch, unsure of what this one was for, his face scrunched up and he automatically nodded and said, "yes Sir."
It seemed to be exactly what he wanted because he grinned. A hand stayed at the back of his knee, and a hand returned to his waist. It slipped under his shirt against his belly, and slid to the side, where it galloped over the bottom of his ribs. "Remember, eyes on me." His other hand slowly stroked the sides of the back of his knee, causing his knee to buckle slightly. His mouth opened, and his brow furrowed as he looked into the almost black eyes of the man tickling him; not enough to make him laugh, but enough to make his nerves tingle all over, his knees go weak, and for him to feel so very violated.
The worst part was that the nerves were firing everywhere. He felt skin tighten in his forehead as his scalp tingled, and he fought the urge to look away from this man, not wanting to incur the wrath he felt he had. He felt the electric currents run through his spine, and make his fingers twitch as they held the bar. And most unfortunately, his groin stirred. He felt his cock begin to twitch as the man unleashed his assault, tickling from his ribs to his hip and back, then to his other side and back. Danny tried arching back, willing his cock to stop, stepping out of the torturous grip and closing his legs. The man simply grabbed him by the back of his knee and yanked him back forward until he was straddling the strangers lap, pinching hard on the tendons on the back of his knee. Danny almost collapsed on his lap, but managed to hold his grip. His nails pinched skin on his back.
"Daniel, eyes on me..."
Danny considered disobeying him. He didn't want to look at him anymore. Tears welled in his eyes as his averted gaze landed on his own crotch and he saw the pants tented slightly as his cock stood at attention. It wasn't large, but it was noticeable.
He felt another hard, painful pinch on the back of his knee. "Daniel, eyes on me." he said, his voice deeper, more threatening.
Danny looked up, wincing at the pain on the back of his knee; that felt like it was hard enough to leave a bruise. "Yes Sir..." he whispered.
"There you go, Daniel. That wasn't so hard." He pulled him forward, tugging at his hips to make him stand up straight. He reached a hand into his shirt, and rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand, under his shirt, danced over his rib cage and against his armpit. "I see you are aroused, Daniel. Is it arousing to have a stranger, a man touching your body?"
Danny's bottom lip trembled, and his eyes left the man for just a few seconds before he squeezed his sensitive nipple, hard. Danny looked back at him. "N-no, its- its just happening, ok? I can't stop it."
His hand left the boys chest, and instead slid down over his waist band and belt, and laid heavily over his crotch, pressing the tip of his cock up against his navel. Danny froze, shuddered, and his eyes rolled slightly as the heat from his palm permeated his shorts, causing his cock to stiffen to full erection. Still only about 5 inches, it rocked against his palm. Danny had no idea how a stranger had such an effect, but he chalked it up to being a virgin; he's never, after all even had a woman touch his groin. Not on purpose anyway. His voice shuddered in his throat, and his hips twitched. "Wh-what..." he muttered, his body curving in slightly in defense. "S-stop..."
The man left his hand on his crotch a moment more, then let go. He leaned back in his seat, crossed both his arms, and gazed towards the front of the bus. He showed no more interest in Danny for the next few minutes, but Danny didn't take his eyes off of his face. He stood in shock, practically straddling a stranger, until the the man untangled his legs, stood, and moved around him to get off of the bus. Danny stared, watching him go with a gaping mouth, before catching the street sign where he had departed.
Kingsley Avenue.
Danny cursed out loud, ran off the bus, looking around. The man was gone, and because of him, he missed his stop. He jogged, limping, backtracking down the boulevard 6 blocks before ducking into the office building, reaching for his wallet to show his ID to security. It was gone. Danny turned red, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over him. He was molested by a stranger on the train, practically let it happen, and was robbed. He wondered when it happened. He clenched his fist. The man had him stare into his eyes... he was probably laughing as he complimented him, after slipping the stolen wallet into his back that he put on the floor, blissfully ignorant that his tormentor had taken more than his dignity.
Danny huffed, and was waved through by security anyway. He scoffed at that; his face was a hard one to forget. Once on his floor, he ducked into the bathroom and slipped into a stall, dropping onto the toilet without bothering with a seat cover. he dropped his head into his hands and yelled, the pitch echoing off of the tile. How ironic. Now it comes out. Looking down at his crotch, his cock was still hard, and his balls ached slightly; he's rarely gotten aroused and not taken care of it. He pulled his belt from the buckle and shoved his jeans down, his less than average cock slightly red with desire. He stared at it for several long moments, and it twitched, like it was begging to be touched by that man again. Even after figuring out that he was duped, he was still harder than he'd ever been. With shame, he wrapped his fingers around the shaft of his cock, jerking quickly. He grunted after just a couple of minutes and shot an unimpressive, yet still sizable load compared to his usual sessions onto the floor of the stall.
Those coal colored eyes, that curious smile, was scorched to the back of his eyes.
He wondered if he would be on the bus tomorrow.
Feel free to drop some constructive criticism in the comments. Thanks, love!
*****
"Hello Sweetheart."
The voice that wrapped around his ear was familiar, and it sent a chill down his navel. His breath caught, and he grabbed the pole in front of him. As if as startled as he, the bus jolted, throwing him into it. He gripped hard. Fear and humiliation filled his throat until it ached as he glanced around himself but certainly not back at the source of the voice. He couldn't. Schrödingers Cat, he thought, if he didn't acknowledge it was there, it wasn't there.
As always, the bus was packed by the time it hit Julliarde Avenue, and he had no space to move... well, except towards the back of the bus, where there was a small gap and a single open seat. But after last time, he preferred to stay near the front. Maybe those facing in this direction would notice, would say something. There was a knot in his throat, trying to climb upward, yell, scream, kick, make noise. But just like last time, his body stood unmoving. Don't make a scene, said his brain. It will only make everyone stare. Freak.
One might ask why he rode Bus 211, the same bus on the same route after "last time". Well, it was the only bus that came close to him, and he couldn't walk to the next one. Last spring, he fell down the stairs and fractured his foot. He wore a boot for 3 months, but never could walk long distances in sneakers after everything was supposedly healed. He attempted to go to the doctor for stronger pain meds, but the man refused to prescribe any unless he consented to surgery that he couldn't afford. They offered him public assistance to pay for the surgery, but since his employer offered a plan, he wasn't eligible. Problem was, the plan cost a fortune, had a copay higher than what he would have left in his check, and barely covered anything. And in order to get to the next bus stop, he would have to walk 10 miles and leave 2 hours earlier.
So, here he was, on the only bus that arrived every morning 15 blocks from his home at 7:30 A.M., 15 minutes into the hour bus ride he took to work, jostled and trapped by the man standing behind him. Maybe that was one of the details clogging the sound in his throat. If he'd tried harder, he might have found a less convenient but alternative route to work, and he wouldn't be in this situation.
He felt another breath on his ear, stubble against his shoulder. "Back, eh? One might think you wanted me to find you again." The young man leaned against the pole, begging the cold metal to cool the warm pink flush rising his on his chest as his heartbeat bruised his rib cage. He said nothing, and tried slowly to squeeze past the man towards the handle behind the bus driver.
A slap of flesh on metal made him jump as the man blocked his path, gripping the pole just above his own hands. He looked to the side, eyes wide as the forearm pressed against his upper arm. The difference was striking, as always, his pale skin as white as a sheet compared to this mans dark tanned skin, black arm hair making him seem even darker. The mans muscles jumped as the bus jostled them, holding his ground. The bus, the people, even the young man himself seemed to rock, but this man was like an unmoving statue. He felt the mans arm and torso press against his, causing him to stumble. The man reached out a hand, grasping his more slender hip, stabilizing him. He felt his skin burn where the mans thumb shifted under his shirt and grazed his pale skin.
He felt a whimper die in his throat as he felt corralled and shifted towards the back of the bus. They stopped near the back, and the larger man dropped his large bag down onto the cracked, plastic yellow seat.
"What is your name, sweetheart?" the man asked, still holding his hip. "We never did get introduced last time, but I certainly had fun." He paused, waited... the young man didn't answer. His fingers curved on his hips, and his fingernails dug into his flesh. "What is your name?" he said, a threat in his voice this time.
The young man choked, nearly thrown into the window over the black zippered bag in front of him. He was caught around the torso by the larger man, who grabbed his wrist and yanked it upwards, where he grasped the overhead bar. "Danny... D-Daniel..." he whispered under his breath. At first, confidence rose in him. He could yell now, cause a scene. But a cork rose in his throat, stopping his voice again. They would stare.
"Daniel... Well hello Daniel." He whispered, his lips moving against his ear. His fingers slid over Danny's skin, around his hip bone, where it dipped nearing his navel. "You are an exotic person, Daniel, with your patchwork skin. It looks mostly pale, except the olive spot on your right eye. By your temples... And these spots..." The fingers of his other hand skimmed across the skin exposed by his vneck shirt. "They look like freckles until you get up close. Is it the same everywhere, Daniel?"
Danny squirmed as the mans fingers tickled over his hip. This was different from last time, when he was silent. The man was talkative this time, his voice was rough and gentle at the same time, and definitely curious. He gasped as the stranger curled his fingers on his hips, digging into his skin again. It started to become pink from the abuse. "Aah!... A-Almost... there a-are a few... few patches..." His chest, where the strangers hand now lay flat, began to turn pink again, and warm to the touch. He hated being observed, examined. He hated people staring.
He chuckled in Danny's ear. "You don't like talking about yourself, Daniel. People of this world are cruel and have done you a great disservice." He danced his fingers across his hip more, and enjoyed the feeling of the young man shuddering. Danny gasped, trying to steady his breath as the tickling send tingles all the way to his toes. Just like last time, he felt so very violated. His heart raced. "You know, Daniel, I think people should worship you."
It sounded like a bad pitch that would get a person to sign their life away. He'd cut open his own hand to sell his soul to the devil for that kind of reality, because he used to believe it was possible. He used to think his skin color meant he was special, like he could transcend the world, break barriers, be anyone he wanted to be. He was going to be the worlds first white president!; it was a joke he liked to tell people when they asked him what he wanted to be. If he laughed at himself for his skin condition first, others were less likely to do it. Even when people befriended him just because he was different rather than in spite of it, and enjoyed jokes at his expense, he still felt like he could do anything. That was, until his parents died. It was like they ripped off his wings and each was buried in a separate casket.
Now he stood at the mercy of this stranger, feeling less than wingless, chained to this bar. He willed himself to let go of it, after all it was where HE wanted his hand. But his body refused to obey.
The man behind him brushed his fingertips back and forth on his chest, inching over to his armpit. He danced his fingers over the hollow of his underarm while dancing against the hip with the opposite hand. Danny mewled, humiliated that a stranger would want to do such a thing. His elbow twisted inward as he tried to hide from him. The man tugged at his armpit hair, forcing that blush from his chest to his cheek. His ears felt hot.
Suddenly, the mans hands left him and he sighed, only to realize he was just changing angles. He moved his bag to the floor and the cracked yellow seat groaned under his weight. He wasn't heavy; he was fit, broad shouldered. Schrodinger's cat was tossed out the window at this point, who knew if he was alive or dead, or if he even landed on his feet. The man, his tormentor, sat in front of him, staring up into Danny's mismatched eyes. The man grinned, revealing a somehow genuine joy and curiosity. "I couldn't help myself." the man said, "I wanted to see your face. Look at you. One eye blue, one eye golden brown." Danny looked down, that blush taking over his face. He couldn't figure out why he suddenly cared about this mans opinion enough to call him a liar. The man reached up under his chin and lifted his face. "Don't you hide those eyes from me. I want you to look at me now, don't take your eyes away. Do you understand?" The noise of the bus seemed to stop his voice from carrying too far, but even so, nothing he said has been threatening. Nobody would think twice if they heard.
Danny, lost in the confusion he had over this mans intentions, let out a pained groan as the man pinched the back of his knee through his slacks. "Do you understand?"
"Y-yeah..." He felt another pinch, unsure of what this one was for, his face scrunched up and he automatically nodded and said, "yes Sir."
It seemed to be exactly what he wanted because he grinned. A hand stayed at the back of his knee, and a hand returned to his waist. It slipped under his shirt against his belly, and slid to the side, where it galloped over the bottom of his ribs. "Remember, eyes on me." His other hand slowly stroked the sides of the back of his knee, causing his knee to buckle slightly. His mouth opened, and his brow furrowed as he looked into the almost black eyes of the man tickling him; not enough to make him laugh, but enough to make his nerves tingle all over, his knees go weak, and for him to feel so very violated.
The worst part was that the nerves were firing everywhere. He felt skin tighten in his forehead as his scalp tingled, and he fought the urge to look away from this man, not wanting to incur the wrath he felt he had. He felt the electric currents run through his spine, and make his fingers twitch as they held the bar. And most unfortunately, his groin stirred. He felt his cock begin to twitch as the man unleashed his assault, tickling from his ribs to his hip and back, then to his other side and back. Danny tried arching back, willing his cock to stop, stepping out of the torturous grip and closing his legs. The man simply grabbed him by the back of his knee and yanked him back forward until he was straddling the strangers lap, pinching hard on the tendons on the back of his knee. Danny almost collapsed on his lap, but managed to hold his grip. His nails pinched skin on his back.
"Daniel, eyes on me..."
Danny considered disobeying him. He didn't want to look at him anymore. Tears welled in his eyes as his averted gaze landed on his own crotch and he saw the pants tented slightly as his cock stood at attention. It wasn't large, but it was noticeable.
He felt another hard, painful pinch on the back of his knee. "Daniel, eyes on me." he said, his voice deeper, more threatening.
Danny looked up, wincing at the pain on the back of his knee; that felt like it was hard enough to leave a bruise. "Yes Sir..." he whispered.
"There you go, Daniel. That wasn't so hard." He pulled him forward, tugging at his hips to make him stand up straight. He reached a hand into his shirt, and rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand, under his shirt, danced over his rib cage and against his armpit. "I see you are aroused, Daniel. Is it arousing to have a stranger, a man touching your body?"
Danny's bottom lip trembled, and his eyes left the man for just a few seconds before he squeezed his sensitive nipple, hard. Danny looked back at him. "N-no, its- its just happening, ok? I can't stop it."
His hand left the boys chest, and instead slid down over his waist band and belt, and laid heavily over his crotch, pressing the tip of his cock up against his navel. Danny froze, shuddered, and his eyes rolled slightly as the heat from his palm permeated his shorts, causing his cock to stiffen to full erection. Still only about 5 inches, it rocked against his palm. Danny had no idea how a stranger had such an effect, but he chalked it up to being a virgin; he's never, after all even had a woman touch his groin. Not on purpose anyway. His voice shuddered in his throat, and his hips twitched. "Wh-what..." he muttered, his body curving in slightly in defense. "S-stop..."
The man left his hand on his crotch a moment more, then let go. He leaned back in his seat, crossed both his arms, and gazed towards the front of the bus. He showed no more interest in Danny for the next few minutes, but Danny didn't take his eyes off of his face. He stood in shock, practically straddling a stranger, until the the man untangled his legs, stood, and moved around him to get off of the bus. Danny stared, watching him go with a gaping mouth, before catching the street sign where he had departed.
Kingsley Avenue.
Danny cursed out loud, ran off the bus, looking around. The man was gone, and because of him, he missed his stop. He jogged, limping, backtracking down the boulevard 6 blocks before ducking into the office building, reaching for his wallet to show his ID to security. It was gone. Danny turned red, and a fresh wave of humiliation washed over him. He was molested by a stranger on the train, practically let it happen, and was robbed. He wondered when it happened. He clenched his fist. The man had him stare into his eyes... he was probably laughing as he complimented him, after slipping the stolen wallet into his back that he put on the floor, blissfully ignorant that his tormentor had taken more than his dignity.
Danny huffed, and was waved through by security anyway. He scoffed at that; his face was a hard one to forget. Once on his floor, he ducked into the bathroom and slipped into a stall, dropping onto the toilet without bothering with a seat cover. he dropped his head into his hands and yelled, the pitch echoing off of the tile. How ironic. Now it comes out. Looking down at his crotch, his cock was still hard, and his balls ached slightly; he's rarely gotten aroused and not taken care of it. He pulled his belt from the buckle and shoved his jeans down, his less than average cock slightly red with desire. He stared at it for several long moments, and it twitched, like it was begging to be touched by that man again. Even after figuring out that he was duped, he was still harder than he'd ever been. With shame, he wrapped his fingers around the shaft of his cock, jerking quickly. He grunted after just a couple of minutes and shot an unimpressive, yet still sizable load compared to his usual sessions onto the floor of the stall.
Those coal colored eyes, that curious smile, was scorched to the back of his eyes.
He wondered if he would be on the bus tomorrow.