CHAPTER SIXTEEN
PAYTON
We’ve reached the top of the Mountain, yet another ‘the’ in the Captain’s limitless arsenal of torture.
It has to be one-hundred degrees out. My t-shirt’s soaked through, as is Lacey’s, her pink sports bra showing underneath.
I preferred the neon number, personally.
Now that the shock has worn off, it almost seems laughable, though I’m not about to bring it up. She seems to have forgotten the whole, sorry episode herself, as have the boys—publicly, at least.
As for campus security guard, he’ll get what’s coming to him one way or another. I’ll see to that.
Given the hour-long bus ride out here and the two-hour climb to the summit of this giant rock, everyone’s wasted. There’s no cover or shade at the summit—just a flat space in which to stand and be baked by the sun.
Lacey gazes out over the desert below. “You’ve got to admit, it is a great view.”
I’m standing behind her, my eyes dropping to the perfect orbs of her ass. “You can say that again.”
The Captain’s standing right on the edge of the summit, one foot lifted up onto a boulder, a hand on his knee as though he’s a pioneer observing a newfound territory. He turns. “So, what does everything think of Mount Forbes?”
“More like ‘Mount Pain,’” jokes Jackson.
The Captain ignores him. “Believe it or not, folks, but the descent’s a lot harder than the ascent.”
Hernandez comes up beside me, looks like he’s come fresh from a paddle pool. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I know I’m Mexican, but I’m not cut out for this desert shit, man.”
Lacey smiles at him. Her hair’s pulled into a tight ponytail. “You’d rather Minnesota?”
“It’s still a desert,” he replies, “just with snow instead of sand.”
He drifts off to King and co.
Lacey bumps my shoulder with hers. “Whatcha thinking about, Teddy?”
I smile back at her. “How much I’d like to be inside you right now.”
“Here?” she protests.
I look down. “That’s right. Here in the dirt, maybe taking you from behind, pounding away at that sweet ass of yours until you’re begging for release.”
She puts a finger on her chin. “Hmm, tempting, but maybe not with the entire class watching.”
“Our tryst in the Tower the other day didn’t do it for you?” I query.
She lifts up her water bottle, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, a bead of moisture sitting on her lower lip. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit turned on.”
“A little bit?” I laugh. “You were wet as the Atlantic Ocean.”
“And you’re making me horny.”
“Is that a crime?” I suggest.
“When there’s nothing we can do about it for another couple of hours, yes.”
The Captain claps his hands together. “Alright, people. That’s enough sight-seeing. Let’s hoof it down. King, you take up front with me.”
“Yes, Captain,” Jackson slurs, eye-rolling at us.
I’m shoulder-checked by Ryan as he passes. I’d forgotten he was even here for a moment.
I shove him back. “Fuck off.”
The Captain catches it. “Cox, Fielding, stop playing the kissing game and let’s get moving.”
The Captain wasn’t kidding. Going down’s a PITA. The constant impact on your knees makes the descent a far more uncomfortable proposition than the ascent. But even more painful is the hypnotic way Lacey’s ass cheeks tilt and shift together as she walks. By the time we reach the flat section I reckon I could knock down the bus’s door with my dick it’s so hard.
We take the back seat, most of the others filling up the front of the bus, half of them asleep before it’s started moving.
The sun’s starting to set outside, early this time of year. It turns the entire desert a luminous, pastel pink.
Half an hour in and most of the bus has settled, only the radio playing and engine noise to be heard.
Lacey and I are right up in the back corner. We’re so close our legs are brushing together, shielded away from the rest of the passengers by the chairs in front, Hernandez sleeping soundly against the window two rows ahead.
We pass through a storm, rain washing across the windows in dark sheets. The sound of water splashing around the wheel wells drowns out almost all else. It’s the second time it’s rained in this supposed desert in two weeks.
The world outside isn’t the only thing that’s wet.
We both feel it—the pull, the arousal. The desperation rises until I can’t take another fucking second.
Lacey opens her mouth to speak.
I meet it.
Our lips press together, my hand shifting to her leg. She brings her own to cradle my chin, to press me deeper into the kiss.
Her breathing increases tenfold. My heart beats hotly in turn, my pulse steadily rising against her hand.
She runs her fingers up the back of my neck, raking them through my hair as our tongues meet and roll between us. They twist in the hot space there as my hand continues to climb between her legs.
I pull her closer, her thighs falling apart. My hand slips below the waistband of her pants and into her panties, falls into the wet crevice there to seek her slippery core.
I glance sideways, but everyone continues to sleep, unaware of what’s taking place at the back of the bus.
Our hands run over each other as the kiss remains unbroken above. We’re both breathing deeply, ragged.
We’re low, barely visible over the chair in front of us, doing everything we can to remain quiet.
I’m burning up from the urgency of it all. It’s suffocating, my body building a steady sweat on top of the one I used to climb the Mountain. My dick’s as hard as the metal bar beside us.
I know Lacey can feel it too, the arousal rising heady and tempestuous.
I’m desperate to fill that ache between her legs, desperate to make her come again.
My mouth is unexpectedly dry when we draw apart, but the want remains.
Her hands move under my shirt. There they find marble planes of muscle, the corrugations of toned abdominals. She moves her fingers to my back, her tongue finding the outer shell of her ear and curling around it, my hand rising up her neck to meet it while the other, between her thighs, dives deeper.
“You’re still wet,” I whisper in her ear, my fingers probing into the hot opening of her cleft.
Her legs spread wider, drawing my fingers inside her pussy. Two slip inside to the second knuckle.
She gasps aloud at the intrusion, the quick ease by which I’ve penetrated her and the easy egress her arousal has allowed.
I add a third finger to the others, folded upwards and pressed against the roof of her pussy, rolling and twisting in the heated boiler room it has become.
In detail, I whisper every tiny detail of what my fingers find to her. I let the syllables of my voice clip together quickly, allowing her no respite.
Her legs are so wide they’re almost perpendicular to her hips, her center split fully open. My cock presses hard against my jocks, stabbing at the cotton in agitation.
I slide my fingers in and out of her body slowly, admiring the way her eyelashes flutter in time.
“Yes,” she mouths, lost.
I allow my fingers to curl inside her, the rough pad of my thumb playing with her clit, stroking it erect.
I feel a thrum start inside her, a pulsing in her core that signals her approaching orgasm. Her breath is warm against the side of my neck. I reach down and hold her back, cradling her as her climax builds and tightens around my fingers.
She’s soaking, offers no opposition. Each time I plunge in, her arousal is pressed outwards against the side of her thighs, her clit throbbing under the pressure of my thumb, her hips lifting to meet it.
I feel her tighten further, tell her to come for me—command it.
She starts to jerk and buckle on the pleather of the bench seat, her climax sure to overwhelm her at any moment.
I place my free hand over her open mouth just as it arrives. She bites lightly down on my fingers as her body shakes and thrashes against the hardened backboard of the seat.
I’m not done. I stroke the roof of her pussy in a come-hither motion, a second, weaker orgasm following the first that leaves her completely limp.
She bucks a final time, the wet walls of her sex clamping around my fingers, teeth marks visible in those that leave her lips.
My fingers exit her hole. Even through her sports bra I can see the stiff tufts of her nipples.
The rain continues to wash against the windows, the rest of the bus oblivious to us.
She opens her eyes and smiles, but all it does it flood my dick with fresh desire.
I’m surprised when she throws herself against me, her lips collapsing upon mine hard. There’s nothing submissive about it.
The virgin is gone.
I moan when her tongue spears into my mouth, her fingers fumbling with my belt in an effort to undo it, her breath uneven.
The wheels continue to turn over below us, the vibrations of the motion humming through the seat.
I can see the determination on her face. She wants to make me come as hard as I made her. Frankly, I don’t think it’s going to be a fucking problem. There’s nothing I want more than to feel my cock pulsing in her mouth right now.
Buckle undone, she pulls my zipper down as quietly as she can and fishes inside for my cock. She finds it stiff and completely solid, balls heavy as jackfruit below.
She kisses me again, rolling her hand over the glossy helmet of my prick, pumping it lightly with her hand.
A soft expletive leaves my lips, my head falling back against the seat.
“Do you like that?” she whispers.
I nod with satisfaction.
“How about this?”
She starts to fist my cock, leaning close to my ear to tell me how much she wants to taste it, to suck it.
She doesn’t give me a chance to reply, her head dropping over my stiff member. Her lips wrap around the head of my cock as it’s enveloped by the hot confines of her mouth, her hands running up my shaft to meet her lips.
I run my hands through her hair as she works. She’s enjoying it. I sense her savoring the way my body reacts, exploring the many ridges and textures of my cock with her tongue and lips, feeling it out.
Suddenly, she drives her lips down almost to the root of my cock, the act almost forcing my release, but I manage to hold off, my entire cock filling her tiny throat.
I seize her hair, my hips rising to drive my cock deeper.
She continues to pump with her hand—pump, suck, pump, suck—until I’m tense as a bear trap, hovering on the edge of release.
The Tower was one thing, but this would equally see us expelled, yet the naughtiness of it only makes me harder.
My cock pops from her mouth wet with her saliva. Her glazed eyes look up to mine. I read her lips, blinking to make sure I read them right.
“Come in my mouth,” she repeats.
She goes back to work, doubling the effort and quickly bringing me to the brink again.
I grit my teeth together when she drops down my full length once more.
I grip her hair tighter before stiffening completely.
I release, my cock pumping against her lips, my load firing hot down her throat.
She sucks and swallows, takes every last drop.
I slump back against the seat spent, my vision blurry and entire body beating.
She swipes a finger across her lower lip when she rises, slipping it inside her mouth to suck the last of my arousal away. “Mmm, delicious,” she moans, feral eyes alive.
She does my buckle and belt back up, sitting back as if nothing has happened.
I look down the bus, but no one’s any the wiser.
If there ever was one, the timid, virginal Lacey Nelson is long gone.
The rain lets up when we arrive back at campus.
I thank the bus driver as we’re getting off.
“Come again,” he replies, adding a wink for good measure.