Lady Victoria Eclectic Pagan's blog: "Erotica (NSFW)"

It was the heat that did it, she told herself later. She'd been riding home on the bus on one of those sweltering hot days that New York gets in August. Everyone else hated it - all she had heard all day was "It's a hot one, eh?" and "Hot enough for you?" But she loved the heat. She always felt sexy on a really hot day. It made her so much more aware of her body. It was sultry, it was tropical, it was steamy and humid and sensual.

The bus was crowded as usual and she hadn't gotten a seat. She'd lived here long enough to not expect anyone to give up a seat, and she was right, but today she didn't mind. The plastic seats just stuck to your skin anyway. She liked the feel of the air on her body.

She wrapped her hand in the strap and relaxed, letting her body sway easily with the motion of the bus. People were crowded close, but no one was actually touching her - New Yorkers' personal space was smaller, but just as carefully maintained.

She liked riding like this. All the windows were wide open, and the hot breeze flowed around her, fluttering her thin cotton dress pleasantly against her thighs. She felt a drop of sweat run down between her breasts, tickling her. Glancing down, she could see down the neck of her dress.

As usual in the summer, she was wearing no underwear, and the shining globes of her breasts jiggled and swayed freely beneath the thin material. The light coming through the bright tropical print cast moving pastel patterns on her moist skin. As she stood there swaying languorously, she imagined herself walking naked down a jungle path, the tropical sun burning down through the canopy to dapple her skin.

She felt like a tigress in heat, prowling through her jungle domain, searching for a mate. She wondered what tiger lovemaking would be like - lots of hissing and growling and some dangerously sharp biting, she imagined.

It sounded good to her. She imagined huge furry paws, magnificent in their gold and black power, reaching around from behind to crush those humid breasts. The claws would be retracted, of course, but still visible, their needle tips resting lightly on her skin, dimpling it slightly to remind her of their power and their danger.

God, thinking like that made her hotter than ever! She felt her nipples rise up hard, as they always did when she was very excited. Her dress was pulled tight across her breasts by her raised arm, accentuating them and the fact that she was braless, and her hard nipples looked like she had gum drops in there. Jeez, is this what men feel like when they get an erection in public?

She looked around to see if anyone else noticed, and looked straight into the eyes of a gorgeous man sitting opposite. He had obviously been watching her, and she had no doubt that he had observed her telltale condition. She blushed and looked quickly away, but her nipples just got harder at the thought of him sitting there watching her as she fantasized. A warm glow in the tips of her breasts flowed out across them, down her belly, and between her legs, contributing to the already moist conditions there.

After a few minutes she built up the nerve to meet his eyes again. He was still watching her. He was sitting in one of those back-to-the-wall seats, facing right toward her. He was a few years older than she, but lean and tan and fit. He wore a neat white tropical suit and he looked perfectly comfortable in the heat. His longish black hair was slicked severely back from his olive face, making him look like one of those sleek, Italian fashion-models one saw in the expensive ads in the New Yorker.

His dark eyes looked fixedly into hers, and she had the eerie sensation that he could see her every thought. She stood staring, lost in those black, unreadable eyes. They traveled slowly and unashamedly down her body. She saw them move from one breast to the other, then slide down her belly to her hips, the curve of her thighs, her bare legs, her feet; and then slowly all the way back up to her face, missing no detail of her figure.

Her body shivered and he saw, he understood. It sure wasn't the temperature. She had never been looked at quite that way before. It was not ogling, the usual furtive peeking; it was just a very thorough and appreciative appraisal. His face was nearly expressionless, but there was a barely discernible curl now at the corner of his mouth. Was he smiling? To himself or to her? In amusement or desire? Whatever it meant, it lit her fire. The tiger's paws became tan and muscular hands with long slim fingers that cupped and lifted her breasts. His hands.

The bus jerked to a stop and several people squeezed past her and got off. The crowd around her eased slightly, dividing the new space amongst themselves, but she stayed where she was, transfixed by his eyes. She stood directly in front of him, a foot or so from his knees, her back to the rear door of the bus.

The bus started off with another jerk. Several people grabbed seat backs to steady themselves, but she didn't want to move from where she was. She braced her legs wide apart for balance. With that same maddening self-assurance, his eyes roamed freely down her body again and locked directly on her crotch.

Freed from his hypnotic gaze, she glanced past him to her reflection in the window, and gasped. She realized now what he was looking at. She was naked!

The late afternoon sun was glinting blindingly from the windows of each car they passed, sending a brilliant glare through the full-length windows in the doors behind her. Each flash turned her pretty little summer dress as transparent as spring water, silhouetting her naked body beneath in exquisite detail. Her left breast, caught in profile, could be seen swaying heavily below her upraised arm. Even the erect nipple couldn't be missed, holding out a little tent of gossamer shadow from the curve of her breast.

Her narrow waist, the voluptuous swell of her hips, the smoothly tapering thighs, all drew the eye downward and inward, to where the light was the very brightest: the glowing chalice of light between her thighs.

With her legs braced wide apart, it was easy to see the crease between, perhaps even a hint of the protruding lips. With a rush of heat, she realized he could even see the shadow of a thin goatee where her hair, now matted with moisture, hung down in a little point.

After they had both studied the apparition for several long moments, she tried to think what she should do. She resisted her instinctive impulse to hide herself, a step or two to either side would have been sufficient. She found it tremendously exciting to be standing here on a crowded bus rattling down Fifth Avenue, almost toe-to-toe with this very attractive stranger, and knowing that he could see her as naked as if she had just shrugged out of her dress and let it fall to the floor.

She looked down at him again and found him watching her face. If he had grinned and looked away she would have moved away immediately. If he had been even the least bit furtive or sly, if there had been a hint of a leer, she would have been embarrassed and affronted. But he met her gaze evenly.

He had been watching her face when she caught her reflection, and he had seen her stiffen with alarm when she realized he could see her. He knew she knew, and she knew he knew why she didn't move away. A tacit agreement passed between them, each aware that they were both taking and giving pleasure. Though they had neither spoken nor touched, it was as if they were making love to each other in the midst of the crowd. She remained like that, swaying with the motion of the bus, every inch of her skin tingling as she felt his eyes roaming over her body like a warm caress. She was almost purring.

"'Scuse me, lady," said a loud Brooklyn accent in her ear, startling her from her reverie. A man was standing next to her, looking at her oddly, as if he wondered if she were deaf or simple-minded. She blinked at him in confusion.

"This is my stop, lady. Please." She stepped aside, bumping her hip awkwardly against the chrome pole next to her. The man squeezed past and went down the steps to the sidewalk. The bus started off again immediately.

Well, so much for that, she thought in disappointment. The incredible sexual tension of the situation was broken. The bus was rapidly emptying, and only two or three other people were still standing. She could hardly go back to stand in front of the door again. She couldn't even see her man's face now, for she had turned her back to him when she swung aside to let the other passenger off. She was intensely aware, however, that his head must be only inches from her hip; she stood leaning against the pole at the end of his seat.

Looking down, she saw his hand on the pole beside her thigh. She could see fine hairs glinting in the sun on the back of his hand. The sight of his tawny skin no more than an inch from her leg raised her temperature yet again.

Impulsively, she leaned slightly against the pole and pressed her thigh against his hand. He made no effort to remove it. She couldn't believe she was really doing this, but she didn't care; she just wanted to recover that silent, electric communion they'd been sharing.

She could feel the warmth of his hand against her thigh. Incredible that such a minuscule contact could arouse her so, but it was the mood she was in. She reveled in the touch. She leaned harder against the chrome pole, mashing it into the side of her left breast, savoring the hard impress of cool metal against her softness.

Then she felt his hand being withdrawn. The spell was broken again. She wondered suddenly if she'd been wrong all along, if he hadn't been sharing the wonderful experience with her, but only staring at her. Perhaps that subtle touch had not been as exciting for him as it had for her. Perhaps he hadn't even noticed it. What a foolish woman she was!

But then her racing thoughts were stilled as she felt a touch, light as down, on the back of her thigh. She caught her breath and waited, not knowing what else to do. Nothing else happened for several minutes. Had it been an accident? Perhaps he was only opening his paper, oblivious to her as she stood literally trembling before him. Then his hand slipped between her legs and closed around her bare thigh just above her right knee.

What should she do? Here was a strange man with his hand under her skirt. She knew nothing about him, not even his name. How did he dare to do such a thing? One didn't just grope strangers on a bus. How could he be so sure that she would let him? Should she pull away, pretend it hadn't happened? Should she confront him, slap his face? In the end she did exactly what he had known she would; what she wanted. She stood stock-still and closed her eyes, concentrating every ounce of her being on his touch.

His hand gently pressed and kneaded her thigh, then began to glide upwards. She felt her skirt move against her legs. She wondered if anyone else could see what he was doing. She dimly remembered someone sitting beside him, but had paid so little attention she didn't know if it was a man or a woman. Now she didn't dare to turn around to see. Either they weren't paying attention or the man was somehow concealing what he was doing.

His hand slid higher, onto that hypersensitive skin on the inside of her upper thigh. She mashed her breast even harder against the pole. Or perhaps he wasn't concealing what he was doing, she thought with a rush of heat to her face. He was so bold and arrogant he might just be leaning forward in his seat to openly fondle her. What did he care what she thought? She was making no effort to move away, was she? In any case, she was too far-gone now to care. She just didn't want it to stop.

His hand had nearly reached the top of her leg. The back of his hand was now brushing her left leg and she was sure he knew the wetness there was more than just sweat. Then the upper edge of his hand brushed her hair and stopped. She bit her lip and held her breath, waiting, dreading, begging for him to continue, but they remained like that minute after minute, both of them savoring the anticipation.

Finally, when she thought she couldn't stand it any more, he pressed the side of his hand hard up against her, directly on her slit. She shuddered at the touch and clutched the pole for balance, but neither of them made a sound.

Her position prevented him from moving very much, but he flexed his hand, working the side of his forefinger right between her lips. Totally engrossed in his touch and only half aware of where she was, she shifted her weight to her right leg and stepped forward slightly with her left. This opened her thighs just enough to give him free access, and incidentally brought her rigid nipple into direct contact with the cold steel pole. Every motion of the bus, of her trembling body, caused her nipple to flip back and forth across the smooth metal, keeping it in a high state of arousal. But she was hardly aware of it, so concentrated was she on what was going on between her legs.

Freed at last, his hand rocked to the left, sweeping his fingertips one by one across her mound, stroking her hair, dipping between her lips. His thumb insinuated itself between her cheeks to rest directly on the puckered ring of her ass. She instinctively arched her back, pressing her bottom back into the palm of his hand. He responded by cupping her pubis in his hand and bringing the tip of his middle finger down on the head of her clitoris.

Perfectly timed with the spasm of lust that swept through her at the touch, the loud honk of a taxi horn brought her back to where she was. She opened her eyes and glanced fearfully down her body to see if anything could be seen. To her horror, she saw that his knuckles made unmistakable moving bumps in the front of her dress. If anyone looked closely at her there, they couldn't help but see what was going on.

She was gathering her nerve to check the faces around her, when she saw the bump that marked his middle finger protrude still further, then both saw and felt it disappear inside her. It slid in effortlessly right to the knuckle, confirming her lubricious condition. Forgetting everything else, she closed her eyes to savor the sensation to the fullest.

She thought she would faint. Her knees were trembling as if they would collapse; she couldn't seem to get enough air. To keep from falling, she crushed her breast into the pole so hard it bulged out on either side, the nipple mercilessly mashed. The pain cleared her head.

What the hell was she doing? Here she was in a crowded bus, going down Fifth Avenue in broad daylight, and some complete stranger has his hand in her snatch. She had to put a stop to it - but how? Just walk away? Easier said than done. To coin a phrase, he had her by the short hairs. How could she get disentangled without a scene? Should she say something to him, ask him to stop? What would she say? "Excuse me, I know we haven't been introduced, but would you mind taking your finger out of my cunt?"

Before she could think of a proper response, her thoughts were scattered again as he began to wriggle his finger inside her. It squirmed in circles, alternating with smooth in-and-out strokes. The tip of his index finger massaged her throbbing clitoris. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Every muscle in her body was rigid as she tried to maintain both her balance and her composure. Try as she might, she couldn't help rocking her hips imperceptibly against his probing hand.

His hand tightened, and she felt the tip of his thumb force its way into her trembling ass. Her muscles were too watery to resist its advance, and soon she was doubly impaled. He squeezed his hand closed, as if trying to bring his thumb and finger together inside her.

It was a strange sensation. It felt as if he held the center of her in his hand, as if she could just relax and float up into the air, supported only by his hand in her vitals. She trembled with desire at the thought, and he must have felt it, for he immediately redoubled his stroking and kneading. Then she knew she had lost all control. Biting her lip to keep silent, she abandoned herself to the hot waves of lust rising in her belly. Reading her perfectly, he twiddled her clitoris furiously, and she came in one huge rush, clamping her legs together so hard that his hand must have been crushed.

Her orgasm was so total and so sudden that she moaned aloud. Oh, Goddess, now I've done it, she thought. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked straight into the face of a past-middle-aged woman in the seat opposite. The woman's mouth was open, her eyes wide, as she stared straight at the man's hand still buried in her crotch. There wasn't a doubt that she had seen everything that had happened.

A thrill of horror went through her, rather disconcertingly simultaneous with an aftershock of orgasm. Would the woman shout at her, make a commotion, denounce her to their fellow commuters? Then what? What would she do; what could she say?

Her mind raced, trying to think of something she could say to the woman. But then she noticed the peculiar glazed look in the woman's eyes, as if she were looking through her, focused on something more distant than the man's hand, now stroking and soothing her beneath her dress. For an instant she thought the woman might be blind. Then a slight motion caught her eye and she looked down at the woman's lap.

A large shopping bag lay across her legs, emblazoned with the name of an expensive department store. The woman's hands were tucked out of sight beneath it, but the bag was unobtrusively but clearly jiggling up and down. A warm bond of understanding came over her. Bless her heart, the old girl was frigging herself right along with them. As she watched, the woman shuddered, her eyes closing in blessed release.

Regaining herself, the woman looked up and their eyes met. The woman looked startled at first to realize she had been observed, but then she smiled. It was a wonderful smile, impossible to resist returning, and a secret womanly knowledge passed between them. Far from condemning her, the woman understood perfectly.

As she stood grinning down at her, she felt the man's hand slide damply down her thigh, and leave her. The spell was broken at last. She was sated.
Some internal alarm went off and she stooped to look out of the bus. They were just pulling up at her stop. Without a glance back at the man, she swung down the steps to the sweltering sidewalk. The bus moved off in a blue cloud of diesel fumes. She stood looking after it, thinking. Finally she turned toward her building. She felt relaxed and happy, with a warm feeling for those two strangers on the bus.

They all understood. It was the heat that did it.