The Driver

I was getting to the end of my shift today. Only two more stops, I was ending the bus route on the outskirts of town, with what I thought was an empty bus, when a clicking noise, as from a camera, distracted me. I threw a glance to the back, and spotted a hand holding a cell phone, a young man taking selfies of himself. A shift in my seat, and from a different angle in the mirror I spotted his pants around his ankles.

I braked down, and drove the bus to a full stop on a side road, hit the override button to lock the doors, and got up from my seat to tell the exhibitionist off. In the front of my uniform pants a half voluntarily chub had started building, but I tried not to pay too much attention to it.

It had reached a raging stage when I reached him, a slender little twink with Snapchat open on his phone, undoubtedly pasting himself on the screens of whomever asked for it. His pants around his ankles, his local college t-shirt pulled up over his shoulders. I tried getting eye contact, but his eyes were glued to my crotch.

"You little whore," I said, staring at his raised cock. "Do you think you can draw a weapon like that in my bus, and get away with it?"

He smiled again, too cocky for his own good. I grabbed him by the hair, and dragged his face where his gaze had been just a moment earlier.

As I rubbed his chin on my pants - frotting the outline of his jaw onto my now angry erection - I let him know the situation: "No one exposes themselves on my bus, without permission. Do you get that? Now, crawl to the front."

He obeyed, and writhed coyly on all fours on the dirty bus floor - cell phone still in hand, pants around his left ankle. His shaved boy cunt was winking at me with every movement. After what seemed like a horny eternity, he stared out the front window, where a small crowd had already gathered to see why the bus had halted to the alleyside

"Touch yourself," I commanded.

He got up, cupped his balls with one hand, and confidently began stroking his engorged cock with the other. Several more than earlier had already gathered, some turning away in instinct, others smiled at the display.

"Grab the microphone," I said. "Click the button on the side. Don't stop stroking." He grabbed the handpiece connected to the external speakers, and moaned lovingly. Some in the crowd outside clapped eagerly.

"You like the excitement, huh. You like to be watched, you cum receptacle? Tell the potential passengers outside your dreams."

"I like to be watched," he said, to a small applause.

"Do you like..." - I had already begun unbuckling my uniform belt - "to be observed while fucked too?"

"I would very much like to be observed while fucked," he answered, not stopping his undulating hand motions towards the bus window.

The tension in the crowd was building. Several people were pointing, a man standing behind his wife was trying to hide the fact that he was feeling her up between the legs while he whispered sweet perversions in her ear.

"State your name for the audience," I commanded.

"I am his slut," he said in the microphone, rubbing his firebrand dome with a spit-greased hand to hollers of delight from the still building audience.

"Yes, you are." I took several steps forwards, and pushed him onto the bus console. He held one hand to the microphone, the other up towards the front window. His hole presented itself like a virginal flower, not to be picked for a bouquet, but to be taken.

I freed a hard cock from its cotton prison, and laid it between his ass cheeks. "Now, slut, are you ready to accept your punishment?"

"I am ready to accept my punishment," he said into his mic. He spread his legs further, and winked at me again.

Not content with his happy tone, I grabbed him by the hair, and planted firmly around his pole.

He squealed, a bit less sure of himself this time. More to my liking.

I started milking his cock like an udder, and told him to profess to the audience what he was guilty of. In-between moans, he uttered: "I... have... been... a... bad... slut. I... have... been... a... bad... slut."

A man in the crowd answered, and soon a handful of people chanted in the same rhythm: "Cum... slut. Cum... slut... Cum... slut."

The excitement was still building outside, the crowd was hungry for more. A man was obviously jerking off under his coat. Not trying to hide it anymore, the husband from earlier had planted a hand down his wifes skirt, she was moaning along with the slut inside the bus.

"I want to make you sing," I said, grabbing a bottle of lube from the glove compartment. I normally used it to enhance my own mid-shift breaks, but now I squirted a dollop just above the sluts enticing hole. He let out a queer bark, giving the audience something new to care about. He was about to give the presentation of a lifetime.

Too abruptly for the sluts own good, I entered him. My grunt coincided with his yell, harmonising in a world premiere duet. He grabbed the microphone harder now, I could hear the cheap plastic chirp under the stress of his grip. Outside the crowd reached a new high, several people cheering.

I withdrew enough for his hole to tighten up, before thrusting in again. He groaned. "Slut," I said, while running in and out of his twink body, "Have you been dreaming of this?"

"Yes, Daddy." I slapped his ass in protest. "Did I say you could call me Daddy?" "No, Daddy." He was provoking me. I slapped him again, harder this time, leaving a five-fingered red mark on the pale cheek.

"You can call me Driver," I said, drilling deeper into him, my scruffy balls reaching all the way to his lubed scrotum, entering deeper than I'd hit before.

I grabbed his hips and flipped him to his back, his strutting manhood waving at me, as if asking me to hold it. I drove stick for a living, this was no different. I grabbed the knob, wet with the sluts own juices, and stroked the edge of his head, reinforcing my own staccato rhythms in his ass

He held his hands above his head now, shielding it from hitting the window too hard, while still grunting up towards the microphone.

"Yes, Driver. Yes, Driver."

The crowd was supporting his yelps, chanting along with him.

He came first, a cum geysir spurting across his bare chest, on the console, onto the front window. He yelped like a puppy, his raw cock pulsating while I kept on working. I wasn't far behind.

Before I came, I pulled out of him, dragged his ass to the floor, and grabbed the back of his head again. I let him taste himself, my cock hitting the back of his throat as it fired off the first workload down his slut gullet. The second rope shot across his face, mixing with his own man milk, before I shoved it back into his accepting face. I slapped him playfully on the cheek, and purposefully rubbed my cum in his eye. He grabbed the bottom of my shirt in protest, but couldn't avoid it.

"If you've had enough, tell them," I said, my uniform pants around my ankles, him scrounging my shirt with one hand, still holding the microphone in the other.

One cumstreaked eye closed he answered: "I have taken my punishment, Driver."

The crowd, now easily numbering close to a hundred, gave a good cheer for the answer. Some were clearly a bit disappointed.

I swiftly clicked a button on the console. The bus pneumatics exhaled happily, angling the floor towards the sidewalk as the door opened. I gave a purposeful push, and the slut tumbled down the low steps, ending up on the tarmac of the street outside with the audience.

I lifted the dropped mic, and signed off my shift. "This is the Driver speaking. I'm not sure he has had what he deserved, quite yet."

The crowd cheered again, some had already catched my drift, and were pulling down their pants. The happy couple were still running their gambit, his wet fingers now in her mouth, making her taste herself.

The slut smiled up at me as I backed out from the side street, sitting his naked ass on the ground to direct the brunt of the punishment towards his already cum-worn face.

It was a good day at work. My best in years.