Chapter 1
Gay beneath its colour scheme of cream and green. the luxury bus seemed to be a part of Spring itself.
Sunshine flashed and coruscated from its immaculat paintwork.
The Corona Tour bus moved down the winding pais of the Vorarlberg. At the wheel, relaxed and competent, sat the driver. His name, on his travel documents, was 1st van. Istvan Lavoipierre. Nationality : Swiss.
Istvan smiled when he thought of it. Istvan. A name What was a name? He had many names, this big, genial, easy-going man. He had as many names as he had had loads of passengers. The Italians called him Stefano. To the English and to the Americans he was Steve.. Big Steve. Good old Steve. To the French he became Stefan. If he happened to be driving tourists from th Balkans he heard them calling him Stoyan.
But on his papers it said: Istvan.
He had switched the radio on, not so much for the music as for the silence that music permitted. Conversational silence, that is-because his bus, at that stage, was empty of tourists.
It carried only the Greek-born hostess-guide, Althea.
In the balm of the forenoon sun she sat in the seat across the engine-cowling between herself and her driver, Istvan. One thigh was slung over the armrest. Her skirt was bunched around her middle. Her right leg was thrust straight out against the bulkhead.
The June sun was warm and aphrodisiac Althea, exquisite creature of Nature herself, often felt sexy when in motion. She was randy now. It was pleasant dreamily to sit, bathing her cunt in the sun's heat.
For this reason she had exposed herself, splaying her thighs, offering those exquisite columns to the caress of the sparkling, dancing sunlight.
Istvan could see the spread of her pubic hair, closemuted, triangled beneath the wispy transparency of the white net nylon panties she wore.
She was beyond his reach. She seemed oblivious ot the effect she was having on her driver, lost in some private fantasy.
From time to time, beneath the nylon net, her labia would twitch deliriously, provoking I stvan to the very limit sit of endurance.
That is why he had switched on the radio. The music, he had hoped, would provide a diversion. He knew that conversation would have been fatal. To have, spoken to Althea then, would have meant entering her thoughts and to have shared her thoughts would have meant sharing her mood as well. And it was this that Istvan. busy with his driving, was striving to avoid.
He frowned in (concentration as he realised that Althea was proving, with every passing kilometre, far too distracting. Eyes closed in her rapture, she now bad one glorious thigh slung over each of the armrests of her seat. Istvan might not even have been there-and that is what provoked him most. She had reclined the backrest to its maximum and, dreamily asprawl, she had begun to finger herself through the glistening moisture of her panties. Every so often the would twitch in a little jerk of randy pleasure as her clitoris reacted to the stimulation she was affording it.
It was this-the deliberation of her sexual reverie-that fascinated Istvan.
Damn the girl, he thought Why couldn't she hurry herself to her orgasm, if that was what she was after? Of what could she be thinking, asprawl there in her seat, that she could be so deliberate, so dispassionate in her drawn-out, delicious orgy of self-gratification ? Of which touring-bus driver out of the many with whom she had ridden could she possibly be thinking now?
Istvan would have been delighted could he have known the thoughts of his beautiful guide at that precise moment. For they were thoughts intimately concerning Istvan himself; thoughts of the previous evening together in their hotel overlooking the night-time loveliness of Lucerne's lake.
Now she had slipped her fingers down inside the waistband of her panties, the better to savour their contact with her cunt. With blissful deliberation she kept the center finger upon her clitoris, allowing the others to probe idly through her generous bush of curling, virile cunt-hair.
In the welter of mucous from her vagina she found adequate lubrication to set those fingers feeling up her labia, darting in and out of her vagina itself, or dancing lightly all together upon her now-rampant clitoris.
But she was in no .hurry to experience the orgasm that was so near.
Idly, the better to savour the delight of her fantasy, she had opened her uniform shirt-blouse, and with her free band she was busy tweaking the rockhard nipple of her ample, unbrassiered breast.
The sight of that bosom, rosy and soft-textured, proved the last straw for Istvan. So well he remembered it from the previous evening, that his palms, firm upon the wheel, were nevertheless still able to transmit its firm softness up his arms and into his thoughts. Within the confines of his fly bis penis was now fully erect as be stole glances at the delectable woman on bis right. Nor could he discipline this prick of his a moment longer. By God, he thought, but she was lovely! And it was not that she was abandoned, or in any way coarse, as she lay back there. Not Althea! She was just so supremely a child of Nature. What she was doing to herself now was the simple act of securing relief. She was acting as naturally as she would have acted had she squatted to take a piss for the relief of a distended bladder.
Unable to endure the sight any longer, Istvan snapped off the radio button. There was silence in the bus, sudden and stark. Althea opened her eyes and sent a languorous glance towards her driver.
"For Christ's sake," she heard him say. "How can I go on driving, when you provoke me so?"
He tore at the buttons of his trousers. His penis, red and engorged, sprang magnificently into view, freed of the worsted that threatened to snap it in the frenzy of his desire for the body of the woman.
"Look!" he cried.
Althea looked. Looking, she remembered. Last night... Its entire randy length, plunged up to its very hilt into her crotch. And then she became all sudden, sweet feminine concern.
"Poor Istvan," she murmured. "I had no idea. Forgive me, 1 beg of you."
She immediately ceased frigging herself. But Istvan, knowing her sacrifice, broke in:
"Don't stop. Oh God, Althea, I know how dose you must be to coining. It's just-just that the sight of you was too much for me. You're so utterly lovely-so bloody natural!"
Althea raised her eyebrows quizzically, maddeningly.
"How else then?" she said in surprise. "I was thinking of us... last night, together there in Lucerne. It was so lovely, Istvan. And the motion of the bus-and then, there's the sun, so warm-and I got randy again. That's all there is to it."
"Forgive me," he implored. "It's just that... that the sight of you, lost like that in what you were thinking about, was too damn much for me. You'll never know, kitten, how exciting you are-how bloody provocative you can be."
"Poor man! Shame, then-shall we stop the bus?"
Istvan looked down to his lap where the might of his masculinity jutted up and out through his fly. A great globule of oily, prc-coital fluid oozed from its reddened helmet. It built up, up, up-then trickled down the curving head.
"Damn it!" he swore. "I hate being so little in command of myself. A man should be able to exercise more con trol!"
"Poor Istvan! Perhaps-you are over-controlling? I know your strength--now. Now-after last night. Shall we stop? This minute? I'm more than ready for you-right now... you know that!"
But Istvan, late already on the run into Innsbruck, was loath to lose any more time. A halted bus, a bus without its swarm of tourists milling round it like bees round their queen, draws attention. Were his bus to lie abandoned at the roadside the news would flash along the grapevine right into his Zurich headquarters. And Istvan would be held to account for the incident.
"I can't," he growled. " Damn it, Althea, much as I want it-we're late already. Ah, what the hell! Let's forget it!"
With that he jabbed viciously on the throttle and the bus lurched forward, jolting his rampant penis back against the material of his trousers. As it rocked back again, a strand of spunk looped down from its tip to the top of his pants.
"Poor Istvan," breathed Althea for the third time.
Quickly she bent forward, removing her hand from her panties in the same motion. She eased out of her seat and crossed over to Istvan'* cockpit.
Her hand went out, cool and caressing and smooth against Istvan's feverish prick. Perching herself on the engine cowling that separated their seats, she began to soothe that raging cock by drawing the loose skin beneath his circumcised flange gently upwards, then downwards again. Each time she did so, another great globule of spunk would be released so that within seconds the whole massive shaft was a gleaming, oiled piston.
"You wonderful child I" Istvan shuddered in pleasure.
Instinctively he had released his foot from the throttle the moment Althea had commenced her ministrations. Now he lay back in the seat, his eyes never leaving the road... yet he was given up, inside, to the pleasure her experienced fingers were causing him. He let one hand steal into her opened blouse, and Althea, feeling his palm cup one tit, obligingly undid all the buttons to reveal the other as well, in all its rounded glory, jiggling deliciousiy with the gentle shaking of die but.
He moaned, in the grip of exquisite pleasure.
Althea smiled. Never once did her fingers cease their titillation of his penis. And never once did that penis cease to provide its droplet of spunk on each forward motion. There was a froth, now, over her fingers. God, she thought deliriously, how I would love to tuck it for him I She loved the salty, sperm-warm taste of a man's lubrication. And nobody, she reflected, nobody gave so much of it, so generously, as did Istvan. But today she could not. The flat setting of the steering-wheel was between her lips and his tool. And, in any case, the continual spinning of the wheel, as Istvan adjusted for curves, was between her lips and the tip of his prick. It would have prevented her mouthing of his cock. Still, that could come later, she thought, with a fierce determination that stabbed right down to her cunt
There was so much fluid now that Althea switched her tactics. Instead of prolonging the to-and-fro motion she was using, she grabbed the slippery head tightly in her palm. Then, gripping it tight, she let it slither on its own delicious oils, into and out of her clenched fingers. Occasionally she would let its vibrant head escape through her tightly-clenched first two fingers, then through the second and third finger. Then she would brush fiercely over the entire helmet with her whole palm.
Istvan, meanwhile, felt his bowels melt within him at the unendurable delight of her masturbation. Christ! What skill the woman possessed! From whom had she gotten all this knowledge that only a man himself should know?
He looked down in sheer delight from time to time, fascinated to see how the head would emerge blue at the tip, and white where her strong fingers choked powerfully at it on its slithery way out of her grasp. Of all the fucks he had ever had, none had been as fantastic as this. This fucking, demented, delicious Althea! How had they kept so long apart?
And then he knew that the spasm was upon himthat his orgasm would soon occur.
"Don't stop!" he whispered, urgently, giving himself to her, as he tightened his grasp over her one titty. "Ah, for Christ's-sake, Althea, never stop now, kid! Because-" and be shuddered-"because I'm coming, I tell you! Ah, sweet Jesus! I'm coming-any second nowaah-h-h-h!"
"Then come, in the name of Christ, my Istvan, come! But what will you do with it-oh-h-h, God! stop the bus! Stop it, just one moment-so that I can swallow it for you-ah, give me that, at least! Nobody'll see us, Istvan... Istvan!"
She spoke, pleading, simultaneously with her man. But it was too late.
In great jets the white semen spewed forth, the first a full two feet into the air. Out it came in vast streams which Althea greedily sought to scoop up until her cupped palms were full of his semen. What escaped, ran down his penis. It splashed over his fly. Furiously Althea cupped her hands around the base of his tool, never ceasing her masturbation until the unendurable delight actually began to cause pain to Istvan. He squirmed in his seat, desperately seeking to escape the agony of Althea's gripping fingers. Then, with one mighty heave, he burst out of her dutches, leaving her only with a handful of white, amorphous, dripping sperm.
With a cry the girt fell forward upon her knees.
Greedily, pervertedly, she smeared it over her face till it frothed over her features, degrading herself in her agony of unfulfilled lust. Then she splashed the rest into her crotch, massaging it through the nylon of her panties in moaning, sobbing frustration, primevally striving to return to her vagina that which should have been its rightful due. She groaned in lust, her orgasm approaching.
Frantically she tore at her twat, with both hands. Istvan was powerless to aid her as he watched her demoniac climax rack her in its grip. She writhed in her lust upon the floor.
Long, luxurious minutes later, Althea began to recover, a blissful languour coursing through her limbs. She struggled, not wearily, but reluctantly, to a sirring position.
"Oh, Istvan," she breathed softly. "We're so good for each other, you and me... so very good! How have we been kept apart for so long?"
Istvan darted a quick glance over his shoulder at the woman behind him.
"Don't tell me now," he said, "that you're going to plan another attack I"
"Another? Oh, Istvan-I couldn't! I'm so completely satisfied now, my darling-I don't think I'd care if I never got fucked again, ever!"
"You'd care. And you will be. Fucked, I mean," grinned Istvan, casing his whole body with the bus into a sharp right-hand bend.
Althea rose, the still-wet semen matting the hair of her cunt, flowing gently, coldly down the insides of her thighs.
She passed down the centre aisle to the tiny toilet in the rear. Leaving the door ajar, she took Kleenex and hoisted up her skirt to wipe away the sperm. Her every movement was visible, in his rear-view mirror, to Istvan. He grinned, suddenly triumphant at the havoc he had wrought
Her toilet finished, Althea made up a pad of Kleenex, moistened it and came back to sponge Istvan's trousers. Obligingly Istvan spread his thighs and quickly, competently, the Greek girl -went about her task. When all was to her satisfaction, she returned to the toilet and flushed away* the soiled tissues.
"You want to eat lunch, maybe?" Istvan called down the aisle.
"When you're ready, Istvan. Personally I could wait till we get to Innsbruck. Aren't We too late on our run, already?"
"O.K.-we go straight through!"
Quickly, then, and with sure, feminine movements, Althea buttoned her unbound breasts back into her blouse. She smoothed her uniform shirt over sleek, perhaps over-generous hips, and fingerpatted her blue-black hair into order once more. A hitch and a twist to her stockings, a dab of powder and a touch of lipstick, and she came forward once more to her courier's seat fresh as the Alpine flowers themselves in the meadows speeding by.