“Please…”“Please, what?”“I’m married. Please respect that.”I laugh. Wendy squirms. I throb.“Married.” A pause. Seconds pass. Tick,...tick, tick… “Married. Felicity is married. Shall I tell you about Felicity?”Felicity. Biweekly. Every other Friday, in her office, before her husband arrives and they go out for a meal. Felicity who can’t wait to get me hard. Felicity, who thrusts her big tits at me, challenging me to grab them at once, rip open her blouse and suck on her huge nipples while she. It was one of bureaucratic power plays that had the uniformed driver enforcing the strict “correct fare” rules with little concern for sensitivities or adapting to an unusual situation. I was ready to be ejected from the front door when she intervened and put the correct amount in the fare box. After that, we sat down together at the back of the bus like old comrades and I thanked her profusely for her kindness.It would be unfair to say that the age gap between us was enough to give credence to. More

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