Best of Asian Erotica, Volume 2

NIGHT RIDE Nigel Hogge, Philippines

The gears of the old diesel engine clashed and the bus lumbered off up the highway, bumping over potholes and creaking from side to side. Lisa fought her way to the rear to see if she could get a last fond look at her mother and sisters, but when she got there, the gathering dusk made it impossible to see anything through the grimy rear window.

For some reason she began to cry. Perhaps it was a memory of her father averting his eyes as he accepted the little gift from her that started the tears.

She searched for tissue paper in her purse, all that she carried besides an overnight bag and some ears of corn bound with twine, pressed upon her by her mother at the bus stop.

A hand loomed in front of her face, holding a handkerchief. Instinctively, she took it and wiped her eyes. Pulling herself together, she removed the cloth from her face and was disturbed to see it wasn’t very clean.

She turned to the person who had so kindly offered it to her and was surprised to see a young foreigner, a tall, skinny white guy dressed in a faded denim jacket, scruffy white T-shirt and khaki shorts. He was grinning at her.

In the darkness, she could make out faint pockmarks on his face. He had a big, thick-lipped mouth that reminded her of an English rock-and-roll star she’d seen cavorting on a video.

She quickly returned the grubby cloth, nodded curtly, and turned back to the window. She was in no mood for banter. She felt depressed and stared through the glass at the occasional passing light.

The bus droned on through the evening. Night fell. Her feet ached. She hung onto the ceiling strap for support, and out of nowhere her depression lifted, and wicked, erotic thoughts came to her, the kind of thoughts that often plagued her because she was, she knew, a wicked and erotic girl.

Wild fantasies entered her mind, not helped by the fact that she was standing on a filthy floor which trembled and vibrated and sent tremors running up her legs, finishing up at the same damp spot between her luscious, plump, quivering thighs.

Naughty visions of men, boys, hairy chests, flat bellies, hard biceps, lean buttocks, swelling calf muscles, corded necks, thick wrists, sensitive fingers, firm jaws, the feel of a man’s… caramba!!

She froze, her cheek pressed to the unclean glass… caramba! The son of a bitch! The low-down animal! Was she imagining this, or was this part of a dream? Had she fallen asleep standing, and what she felt pressed against her bottom just imagination?

She unwrapped the green leaves from a sheath of ripe yellow corn and wondered if she shouldn’t offer some to the foreigner standing behind her.

He had been silent so far, thank the Lord, and she couldn’t be sure whether he was very kind or a disgusting pervert. She decided to keep the rest of the corn to give to her girlfriends at the club, and sank her pearly white teeth into the soft, delicious flesh of… caramba!

Placed against her butt, which she knew from experience was one of her most sought-after features, was a warm iron pipe. Yes, right in the groove between her bottom cheeks! She chewed on the corn furiously.

She couldn’t scream for help with her mouth full. She twisted her head around to glare at the white guy, but he was standing with his eyes closed, a peaceful, innocent expression painted on his face, which was definitely not handsome. The warm iron pipe had withdrawn. It no longer pushed against her soft rump. She stared up at the man for a while. It was too dark to see if he was pretending to be dozing. A car passed the bus and the cabin was momentarily lit, the yellow glare of the passing headlights sweeping across the mass of long-suffering humanity squeezed like cattle inside the bus as it rattled through the hot night towards the capital.

She blinked and was startled to see his eyes, which were a deep brown with flecks of gold, now open and looking at her.

They didn’t turn away. The man watched her, no longer grinning like an idiot. He wasn’t quite as unattractive as she had first thought. She frowned at him and turned back to her solitary vigil at the greasy window. She knew what would happen next… and it did.

Actually, two things happened at the same time. She had just realized that her pussy was very wet because of the nasty thoughts she’d been unable to banish from her mind minutes earlier, when the bus hit a particularly large pothole on the highway and the foreigner was thrown against her back. A growl of irritation rose from the passengers, and some of the peasants near the front of the bus told the driver their opinions of his ancestry and his mother’s true occupation, but what Lisa knew with total clarity was that the iron pipe against her rump was real, very real, and had not been a dream.

The man groaned, inches from the back of her head, and what did little Miss Catholic Country Girl do? What did prim and proper Miss Irritation do?

She pressed her bottom back against his penis, is what she did.

To this day, when she thought about that moment, which was often, she could hardly suppress a smile. It was a delicious moment. The fire in her belly churned, the torment between her legs itched so much that she had to twist herself against the side of the bus.

She dropped the corn husk and her purse and raised her hand to the strap above her, the better to display herself for the foreigner’s pleasure. Standing on tip-toes, her calf muscles taut, she firmly, without a hint of shame, hidden by the noisy darkness, moved her derriere against his dick and began rubbing herself up and down like a mare in heat cajoling a stallion, for in heat she was.

She was wearing a red blouse made of silky material and although it was demure in style, with long sleeves and a big collar, she could actually look down and see her nipples pushing through the fabric. She placed a hand on her left breast and teased the stiff, thrusting peak of her nipple, playing with it, pinching, tweaking the small living cone, then, moving her fingers to the other breast, repeated the torment.

Her breath was rapid, further fogging the glass inches in front of her mouth. The hefty meat of the stranger’s prick gave off such a heat as to warm her bottom. The two of them, existing in their sensual zone of privacy amongst this mass of flesh around them… a zone made all the more thrilling because of its proximity to danger and discovery… began to move in time with the bus’s lurching motion.

His hands, unable to restrain themselves, left the strap and used her shoulders, and then her waist, for support. He leaned into her, and her bottom clenched and unclenched as his turgid love club, so fearfully constrained by the cloth of his khaki pants, pushed against her black skirt and silk panties, layers of material it was desperate to break through. Suddenly, the bus swerved off the highway and bumped down a short track to pull up, with a groan of brakes and a sigh from the ancient transmission, at a dimly lit way-station.

The bus stopped and the passengers pushed and jostled towards the door, which had swung open with a bang. Within seconds, they were alone on the vehicle, save for the baskets of vegetables and fruits, the slatted crates of chickens and a few pigs tethered by their hind legs.

She leaned down to pick up her purse, fighting to control her pumping breath, conscious of the soggy sweetness between her inner thighs, hardly able to turn from the window and escape her torturer. But turn she did, and fled, unable to make eye contact with the man, so shy did she now feel.

She climbed down the steps shakily and walked towards a soft drink stand. She didn’t know how long she stood staring at the rows of bottles, back-lit by the flickering oil lamps of the tiny café. People milled about as night moths flew around her head and around the soft, hissing glow of the lamps. She was lost in a personal trance, the feel of the man’s mighty cock alive in her memory. She forced herself to drink a bottle of sugary soda. She paid for it with trembling hands and entered the forest behind the café to take a pee before returning to the bus.

As she strolled back to the dusty vehicle, she saw the man leaning against a tree. In front of him he held a big suitcase. She guessed he might have travelled a long way. What route had he taken that fate had planted him so near to her on this night? Where was he coming from? Where was he going? She smiled at him timidly, but his eyes were averted. She knew the suitcase was held in front of him to conceal the bulge in his shorts.

The driver of the bus shouted and clapped his hands. They were on their way again, ready for the final hour’s drive through Manaha’s morbid outskirts and from there to the center of the city, and she had a decision to make.

Would she, could she, return to the back of the bus to take up her former position by the window? Would he follow her? Should she stand, this time, at the front of the vehicle to escape him? Was she a slut or was she a decent Verubian whore on the way back to peddle herself once more along the dangerous waterfront of the capital? Was she losing her mind?

She sprang onto the bus near the head of the line of passengers and strode back to her original place. A small smile was upon her lips. So she was a slut after all. So be it. She could hardly wait for the man. She knew with the female’s carnal intuition that he would soon be behind her again. She knew his need, and needed that need.

She knew he was there as the bus thumped and jolted back to the highway, stopped, changed gears with a hydraulic hiss, and swung to the left to begin its final lap of the night. Her dark, pretty eyes lit up with an inner fire as once again his manhood pressed against her jouncing young bottom cheeks.

But this time the playing was over. She had signalled her permission.

She had, in effect, surrendered any rights she might have as a young girl travelling alone in the night, a citizen of this country, a human being going about legal business. No, that was gone.

His strong hands pulled the black hem of her skirt up and took the elastic band of her panties and slipped them down. She gasped and wriggled. One of her hands dropped from the strap to curl behind her and place itself on the marvellous length of his dagger, and the feel of it was breathtaking.

The man was wasting no more time, an urgency was upon him, a grim need, as his hand took her wrist and assisted her in unbuttoning the buttons of his military type shorts with their safari pockets.

The buttons were swiftly opened and his weapon, smooth and helmeted, truly a warrior in the night, thick and veined, fell from his pants, jerking and twitching into her hand. She whimpered and turned and was lifted onto his suitcase, which was kicked under her by his booted foot, and she was now face to face with the enemy and her arms went around his sweet bony body.

She felt his ribs through the T-shirt and put her hands under the shirt to feel his muscular lean back, her hands hidden under the denim jacket… Oh, Jesus, he felt so good, his skin was like a baby’s, but so hot.

He was burning as she opened her legs like a shameless hussy, eager to be entered. His lips brushed her forehead and his fingers swept the black hair from her sparkling eyes.

She gazed with love, yes love, into his face, searching every wonderful imperfection of his features, her mouth hungry for the taste of his lips and tongue and… dear God… the helmet of his naked baton touched the soft hair of her snatch… the man was going to fuck her! Not here… please not now… we’ll be caught, she thought, her mind a turmoil. We’ll be seen.

The bus will stop, people will shout and point, the police will arrive and lock them up like animals in a cage, her picture will be in the papers, her mother, her sisters… no, worse, her poor father… will see her stupid face plastered over every journal in the land. She’d be a laughing stock, totally notorious like one of those starlets she liked to read about and criticize…

This was the end, she had to escape, she just had to, and… it felt good, so good, as the length of his cock slipped one inch into her open, pulsating love lips. She stood on his suitcase, eyes glazed, lips wet, and eased slowly onto his cock.

She felt the ramrod enter her straight and in command. She was but its subject, its slave, two inches, three inches, and more, please free me from this pleasure, and suddenly he was all the way in, who knew how many inches now, and she felt the bigness and tightness, and felt she might die. It was too big, was she to be slaughtered by this animal, this white bastard was going to kill her, and then she began to pump with him, for him, around him, tightening her wicked quim, stroking his back, biting his mouth till she tasted salty blood, kissing him so she couldn’t scream, her heart pounding as her orgasm came to her without warning.

Her round bottom, naked and squeezed and probed by the man’s rough hands, was whipping back and forth as her orgasm grew and spread like molten lava through the pit of her belly. She felt her juice flow down the slippery sides of her secret place, she moaned in ecstasy and passed out for many seconds.

She didn’t know and would never know how long she fainted because the bliss was so surreal, the delicious pain of it so maddening that she lost consciousness, and the man held her up, supported her with his wiry arms, one hand on her bare bottom, the other around her waist as spasm after spasm now hit him.

His froth flowed into her in creamy streaks, and because of their upright position and the laws of gravity, began to drip from her honey pot, overflowing from her forest of want, and streaks of it fell between their legs to land in drops onto the suitcase.

In their frenzied orbit of lust, she had stiffened at the feel of his hot come, her eyes rolling back to show the whites, and they hadn’t realized that the bus had stopped at a red light and was stuck in a traffic jam.

The interior of the bus was now bathed in patches of moving light, for they had entered the city. Their frantic coupling must end and the cruelty of having their pleasure so abruptly taken from them was acute, but his dong, sodden and still huge, slipped out of her while the walls of her pussy tried to hold and clutch the big guy on its way out, pathetically attempting to prevent its escape.

But all men’s cocks eventually must leave that sweet wound between the female’s legs… oh, would that they could remain in the moist, sumptuous havens of pussies forever, never having to face the harsh world again.

But such a mean trick had been played, so the young buck withdrew from Lisa, pulled his whanger out and wiped it with the same dank cloth he had earlier offered to dry her weeping eyes. He released her. She stepped off the suitcase, pulled up her panties, pushed down her skirt, and tugged her red blouse together where the buttons had been torn off. Rivulets of perspiration coursed down her face. They stood there, dazed. The rest of the journey passed quickly.

The bus stopped at the main terminal on Avenue De La Paz. They waited until the other passengers had alighted. Several of the country folk who had travelled with them gave the couple curious looks. Was it possible their ardor had been less furtive than they had presumed? It hardly mattered now. No one had raised an alarm. They calmly stepped from the bus and wandered onto the wide avenue, which was quiet at this time of night, save for the occasional passing vehicle. A light rain fell, creating haloes of light around the well-spaced street lamps. They stood on the sidewalk holding hands.