Plaistow Pleasure
"Bus driver Amara keeps East London moving. When she finds regular passenger Michael waiting at her last stop, she offers him a ride he'll never forget."
Michael had been riding the 262 for six months, always catching the 11 PM service from Plaistow. He told himself it was convenient. The truth was Amara.
She drove like she owned the road—confident, smooth, commanding. But it was her body that haunted his late-night thoughts. Even in the TfL uniform, her curves were undeniable. Wide hips that tested the seat width, breasts that strained her high-vis vest, and a smile that made him forget his Oyster card half the time.
Tonight, he was the last passenger. She watched him in the mirror as everyone else got off.
"End of the line, handsome. You staying on?"
"Depends. You asking?"
She pulled into the depot, turned off the lights, and locked the doors. They were alone on a double-decker bus at midnight.
"I see you," she said, walking toward him. "Every night. Getting on at Canning Town. Getting off nowhere near anywhere useful."
"Maybe I like the route."
"Maybe you like the driver." She stood over him, her Sierra Leonean accent thick in the darkness. "I've been waiting for you to make a move. Getting tired of waiting."
"So make it for me."
She straddled him right there in the passenger seat, her uniform straining as she moved. Her kiss was demanding, hungry—six months of mutual wanting finally unleashed.
"You have no idea," she breathed, "how many times I've thought about this. When you sit right behind me and I see you in the mirror..."
"I wasn't subtle?"
"Not even slightly." She unbuttoned her vest, then her shirt. Her bra was practical, but what it held was anything but—full, heavy breasts that spilled into his hands.
"Worth the wait?"
"More than worth it."
They moved to the upper deck—more room, more privacy. She bent over the back seat, hiking up her uniform skirt to reveal thick thighs and a simple cotton thong.
"I want you," she said simply. "Now."
He took her from behind, gripping her wide hips as she cried out. The bus rocked slightly with their rhythm, parked in the dark depot, their sounds echoing off empty windows.
"Yes! God, yes! Harder!"
She was loud and unashamed, and he loved it. Loved her. This stranger who wasn't a stranger anymore.
She turned around, pushing him down onto the seats, climbing on top. Her thick body moved in waves as she rode him, her breasts bouncing, her face pure ecstasy.
"So good... you feel so good..."
She came with a shout that fogged the windows, her body shaking, her walls gripping him like she never wanted to let go. He followed seconds later, pulling her down for a kiss that lasted long after they'd both finished.
Afterward, they sat tangled together, her uniform hopelessly wrinkled.
"So," she said, "gonna ride my bus again tomorrow?"
"Every night. If you'll have me."
"I'll always have you." She kissed his jaw. "But next time, sit in the front row. I like watching you through the mirror."
"Control freak."
"You have no idea." She grinned. "Now help me fix my uniform before the morning shift shows up."
His Plaistow pleasure was his new favorite route. And Michael intended to ride it for a very long time.