| Good Morning Little Schoolgirl, Chapter 1: Riding the Bus The bus turned slowly out of traffic onto Fourth Avenue. Jasmine felt the vehicle jerk suddenly as the driver stopped to let an aggressive little import cut in front of him. Jasmine didn't mind riding the bus. It gave her time to think and rest. She led a busy life and as much as she loved driving her Toyota Solara, negotiating it through heavy traffic back and forth to the office every day wasn't her idea of fun. And oddly, riding a city bus felt real. It was one of those ubiquitous urban experiences. It put her in touch with her roots. It made her feel like she was still one of the real people living in this city, and not just one of the jet set, movers and shakers flying above it. It was a half-hour ride each way, a quick glide down the expressway from uptown, then onto the congested streets downtown. Jasmine Greely, for anyone who took a moment to look at her life track, was an anomaly, an outlier, a piece of data that did not fit the normal rule curve. She was black. She grew up in very poor eastside neighborhood. She had heard stories about her dad but she had no recollection of him. She had been raised mostly by her mom but also, for extended periods, by her grandmother and her aunt. There was nothing about her childhood that might be called "prep for success." She was a poor little black kid living in a poor neighborhood, attending a low-standard inner-city school. Statistically, if Jasmine Greely's life had followed a normal track, today she would be struggling to make ends meet in a dead-end job, with 3.5 children and an absentee father. But Jasmine had beaten those statistics. At 35, she had arrived. She had two college degrees. She had money. She had a very expensive uptown apartment. And she was knock-down beautiful. Jasmine was a high-performance account executive for a very successful international commodities firm. She had everything she wanted, and at that moment what she wanted was to just relax. It was 7:45 am and in 20 minutes she'd be walking into her corner office on the 76th floor of the Dawson Tower, and the mayhem that was her work life, would begin. The bus was crowded but not packed, with the usual assortment of coffee-sippers and newspaper-readers, all of them avoiding eye contact like drones in the hive, heading off to whatever it is they do all day. The seats were all taken, leaving some people standing, holding onto the overhead bars for support. Jasmine twitched as she felt that almost uncontrollable urge to reach for her blackberry. It would be so easy. She could flip quickly through some of the three dozen or so emails that were waiting for her attention, and get her busy day started a few minutes early. But Jasmine was a very decisive woman, who liked to be in control, and being in control on her way to work each morning meant taking the time to relax, with no blackberries and no email. Seeking a distraction from temptation, she let her eyes scan the population of the bus. It was then that she saw her—not for the first time because Jasmine had seen the girl before. But this was the first time Jasmine had taken a close look. The girl was actually one of the five or six people who boarded the bus at Jasmine's stop uptown, so she lived somewhere in her neighborhood, but not in her building. At least Jasmine didn't think the girl lived in her building. She couldn't remember seeing her around the property. "Rich little white girl," Jasmine thought to herself. It was just a casual observation, There was no malice in her thought. The girl was wearing one of those preppy private school uniforms, with a crisp white blouse, a delicate black sweater, a grey-green, pleated, plaid skirt, and a pair of white knee socks. But what had attracted Jasmine's eyes to the girl, was that as she scanned the people on the bus, she'd caught the girl looking at her. As I mentioned earlier, Jasmine was an incredibly attractive woman, fit, healthy, copper-colored and beautiful, so in truth she was quite accustomed to catching people looking at her in public. She was sitting in a window seat, one row up from the back of the bus. The schoolgirl was sitting across the isle from her on one of the 4-seater benches that faced sideways rather than forward. Jasmine let her eyes drift off for a moment, noticing an odd-looking man standing in the center of the isle, leaning against a pole balancing his open laptop in one hand while trying to work the mouse pad with the other. "Jerk," she thought, laughing inside, letting her eyes wander again. It happened again. She'd caught the girl looking at her. She was blonde, natural blonde, or at least it looked natural. The girl looked 14, maybe 15. And she was pretty, in a very cultured and expensive way. Her shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a perfectly sculpted ponytail. Her face was lovely and blemish-free. She was definitely a cutie. Jasmine smiled, feeling that familiar feeling come over her, that ticklish, naughty feeling. She was almost laughing inside, at herself of course, for letting herself be tickled by a pretty little schoolgirl on the bus on the way to work. Jasmine Greely was no stranger to same-sex encounters. She'd had many very exciting experiences with other women. But she wasn't a lesbian. And at the same time Jasmine didn't really consider herself heterosexual, or bisexual for that matter. Jasmine was simply sexual. She loved sex. She loved in many forms, and with many people. She turned her head, facing the window slightly, waited a moment, and then let her eyes sneak back to the girl. She was doing it again, and because Jasmine appeared to be looking elsewhere, the girl kept looking, a look that went way beyond a furtive glance. "She's checking me out," Jasmine thought to herself. "She's looking at my stuff." Jasmine liked to dress hot, but there were limits. She worked in a very serious business office, so her look had to be professional, and it was. She was wearing a thigh-length, loose black skirt, a deep maroon, silk blouse, and very stylish grey tweed business jacket. A mischievous smile tickled her lips. "Oh you're bad girl," she thought to herself as she let the muscles in her thighs relax. Jasmine kept her eyes on the schoolgirl as she shifted slightly in her seat. The girl looked away defensively, but then let her eyes focus back once more on Jasmine. Moving ever so slowly, the black woman gently inched her knees apart, widening the space between them. She twitched as felt a warm flush in her clitoris, tickling her. 'This is so much more fun than firing up my blackberry,' she thought to herself as she watched the girl's eyes focus nervously on her legs. 'Well, she seems to want to look, I might as well give her something to look at.' Jasmine smiled inside and deliberately spread her legs wider, giving the schoolgirl a naughty view up under her skirt, letting the girl see the way the crotch of her white underwear contrasted with the copper color of her inner thighs, letting her see the way the thin material hugged her adult cunt. She watched the girl's lips part nervously. She looked away, and then quickly looked back, as if she couldn't take her eyes off of what she was seeing between Jasmine's legs. Jasmine had started this game as a bit of a prank, but now she found herself a little surprised at the girl's desire to keep looking. "You little pussy girl," Jasmine whispered to herself, feeling a growing arousal with how things were developing. But they were almost at her stop. Unfortunately the game had to end. Jasmine turned her head and looked directly at the schoolgirl. The girl looked up and their eyes locked. She'd caught her. She'd caught that pretty little schoolgirl looking up her skirt. Jasmine gave her a smile, a knowing smile, watching with some satisfaction as the girl blushed and looked away nervously. The bus jerked and slowed down. It was Jasmine's stop. The girl refused to make eye contact as Jasmine got up off her seat and walked down the isle heading for the front door of the bus. "Well that was fun," Jasmine thought as she rode the elevator to the 76th floor, still feeling sexually tickled by the experience on the bus. She teased herself with a fantasy of that pretty little schoolgirl laying all alone in her bed at night, with her pajama bottoms pushed down around her ankles, with her knees spread wide apart, playing herself under the covers, masturbating, thinking about the beautiful black woman she'd seen on the bus, remembering what it was like to look up her skirt, to see her underwear, to imagine what her adult cunt might look like. Jasmine was elated as she walked into her office that morning. It just made her day. It was so cool, so energizing, to be sexually tickled like that on the way to work. 'Teenage girls are so funny,' she thought to herself as she settled into her chair. 'They seem to go through this coming-of-age stage when look up to and idolize strong adult women. And it's usually during this phase that they fight constantly with their mom. In some girls that idolization tendency gets very powerful. Often it's a teacher or someone else close to them.' And Jasmine had seen that tendency turn wildly sexual in an older teenage girl in college. Jasmine was doing post-grad work on her second degree. And there was this freshman, a very pretty white girl from Alabama, first time away from home, a little bit lonely, and completely in awe of Jasmine and her academic credentials. Jasmine simply couldn't resist. The girl was completely inexperienced but so available, so submissive, so pliable, so teachable, and so eager to please. Oh the things that pretty white girl learned to do for Jasmine with her very naughty mouth. But that freshman was 18 years old, and the girl on the bus was like maybe 15, tops. Jasmine sighed and double-clicked the email icon on her desktop. Time to go to work. Over the next few days, Jasmine had to admit that she was teased by her memories of that schoolgirl. She was certain she would see the girl again, but her schedule was so hectic and unpredictable. She seldom boarded the bus at the same time each morning and she was often very late coming home. And as it turned out, it wasn't morning at all the next time she saw the girl. It was late on a Thursday afternoon the following week. Jasmine was heading home early, having worked the previous three nights cramming for a sales deadline. She noticed the girl almost immediately. She was sitting in a window seat halfway down the bus, next an older man. Jasmine felt an immediate sexual tickle inside her. There were still a couple of seats at the back of the bus, but Jasmine decided to stand, joining some other commuters in the isle close to the girl. For a brief moment their eyes met, registering a flash of recognition. Jasmine smiled, just a normal smile, a greeting. And the girl returned that smile, but only briefly and very nervously, then she looked away, staring off into the boring nothingness of the moving urban landscape outside the window of the bus. "Hmmm, a little shy," Jasmine thought to herself, with a bit of disappointment. But the girl's retreat did provide Jasmine with an opportunity. 'Absolutely impeccable,' Jasmine thought as she looked the schoolgirl up and down—the same sculpted ponytail, the same delicate black sweater, the same crisp white blouse, the same grey-green, pleated, plaid uniform skirt, and the same white knee socks. 'My god she's even sitting properly,' Jasmine thought, noticing the girl's immaculate posture, the straightness of her back, the locked-together position of her knees, the purposeful placement of her hands in her lap. Jasmine let her eyes dance provocatively down onto the schoolgirl's chest, seeking to gauge the size of her youthful breasts, imagining their firm shape, imagining the small circles of her immature nipples. "Oh man she is cute," Jasmine thought. The girl blushed nervously and reached up to pull her sweater together, expressing a shy and determined girlish modesty, almost as if she could sense Jasmine's eyes on her. As the bus moved onto the expressway and picked up speed, a light rain began to fall from the grey sky outside. 'Shit,' Jasmine thought. 'No umbrella. Fucking weathermen. I wish I could be that wrong that often in my job.' And it was clearly not a temporary shower. By the time the bus rolled up to Jasmine's stop, the rain was nearly torrential, falling in sheets onto the manicured streets, sidewalks and lawns of the upscale, uptown neighborhood. It was just the two them getting off the bus at that stop. Jasmine turned and spoke to the girl as they rolled up to the curb. "Man we're gonna get wet," she said with grin. The girl grinned back. As they stepped off the bus out into the rain together, Jasmine reacted quickly and completely impulsively, slipping her fingers under the girl's upper arm, leading her. "This way, my building's right here," she said, urging the teenager to follow her. The two of them ran together. The bus stop was only about 100 feet from the walkway leading to the front door of Jasmine's apartment building, but they were both panting and quite wet by the time the reached the cover of the exterior overhang. "Wow, that's really coming down," Jasmine said, giving the girl a smile. "Ya, it is," the girl replied. "Where do you live?" Jasmine asked. "How far do you have to go?" "Um, on Westchester," the girl said with some resignation. "Man that's three blocks," Jasmine said. "You'll be drenched." The girl nodded and looked out into the falling rain. For some reason, Jasmine's eyes dropped slightly, and her old friend, that ticklish little sexual flame inside her, sparked to life. On their run from the bus stop, the rain had found parts of the schoolgirl's crisp white blouse, leaving a pattern of small damp spots, and one large wet patch. The material had fallen against the girl's skin and become slightly transparent. Jasmine could see the rise of her young breast and the lacey material of her white bra underneath. "Ah, listen why don't you come upstairs and I can lend you my umbrella," Jasmine suggested. "Really?" the girl asked, turning to look hopefully into Jasmine's eyes. "Sure, no problem," Jasmine said. "You can't go home in this rain without an umbrella. You can give it back to me anytime." "Um, ok, if you don't mind," the girl said, expressing that simple humility that people express whey they find themselves having to accept kindness from strangers. Jasmine let her eyes scan the girl quickly as they rode the elevator up to her floor, noticing for the first time a crest with a prominent cross, embroidered onto the front of her sweater. "So you're in a private school?" she asked. "Ya," the girl confirmed. "St. Xavier." "Ah, a girl's school," Jasmine said. "Catholic, isn't it?" The girl nodded. Jasmine led the girl down the hall to her door, and then into her apartment. "Well, welcome to my hideaway," she said jokingly. The girl grinned. Jasmine dropped her briefcase and left the girl standing in the hall as she went to find dig a couple of small terry hand towels from the linen closet. "Here you go," Jasmine said, handing the girl one of the towels. Both of them dabbed at the residual dampness on their faces and in their hair. "What's your name, if you don't mind me asking," Jasmine prompted. "Um, Brianna," the girl responded. "Ah, cool," Jasmine said. "And what grade are you in at St. Xavier?" "Um, I'm just finishing Grade 8," the girl explained. Jasmine was shocked. "Grade 8, really, then you're how old?" she asked. "Ah, I'm almost 14," the girl blurted. "I'm going to be 14 in three months, in August." 'Holy fuck,' Jasmine thought to herself. 'I've got a 13-year-old girl in my apartment. This girl is a baby.' "Wow, well you look much older," Jasmine said. The girl nodded. "Ya, I know," she said. "I'm tall for my age." "Well, I'll have to dig out that umbrella for you," Jasmine said, suddenly feeling some nervousness. She hadn't been prepared for this. She had no idea the girl was so young. She rummaged quickly through the hall closet, looking for her umbrella, trying to decide if the girl's age really changed anything. Jasmine turned back to the girl, leaned her umbrella up against the wall, and took the terry towel from her hand, dropping it to the floor. Then she stepped close, very close, looking into the schoolgirl's face, looking into her eyes. She had decided. The girl had started this by checking her out on the bus. And Jasmine was going to offer her an opportunity. She was going to open the door for the girl and then it would be her choice whether to enter or not. "Listen Brianna," Jasmine whispered softly to the girl. "Can I ask you a personal question?" The girl nodded nervously, bumping into the wall behind her as she sought to retreat slightly from beautiful black woman who had moved so boldly into her personal space. "Ok, tell me then," Jasmine continued. "How long have you known that you're attracted to girls?" The girl blushed and looked down nervously. "What do you mean?" she asked, stammering slightly. "You know what I mean," Jasmine whispered back. "I saw you looking at me on the bus last week. I know what you were looking at." The girl actually looked distressed now, like a little bird caught in a net, like a child caught stealing. "It's ok," Jasmine said softly, trying to reassure the girl. "I didn't mean to," the girl blurted defensively. "I'm sorry." "It's ok, it's ok," Jasmine said. "I'm not upset about it. Actually, I didn't mind at all. I like girls." The schoolgirl twitched nervously, anxiously. She was completely out of her depth, and clearly trying to stay afloat, trying to figure out if she was in trouble. "Don't worry," Jasmine said softly. "Nothing is going to happen to you. No one is going to hurt you." "But now that you're here, and we have a few minutes, all alone, you know, just the two of us," Jasmine said. "I thought might do you a favor." Brianna seemed puzzled and uncertain..."what?" she asked nervously. "Well, you're going to leave here in a couple of minutes with my umbrella," Jasmine explained. "But, before you go, I thought I might show you what you were looking at the other day. Only close up this time, so you can have a really good look. What do you think about that?" The girl shrugged nervously and shook her head. "I should go now," she whispered desperately. "You can go when we're finished," Jasmine insisted. "It's only going to take a few moments, and all you have to do is get down on your knees." The girl trembled. "I can't," she stammered nervously, clearly overwhelmed by Jasmine's confidence, maturity and commanding physical presence. "Yes you can," Jasmine said, placing her right hand on the girl's shoulder coaxing her downward. The girl's knees trembled and then buckled, lowering slowly to floor. Jasmine smiled, seeing the pretty blonde schoolgirl on her knees in front of her. The girl's eyes were closed. She actually looked scared. "It's ok," she whispered, reassuring the girl. "No one is going to hurt you. Now open your eyes." The girl's eyes flickered open, focusing on the material of Jasmine's skirt. "What are you going to do?" she asked, gasping nervously. "I'm going to let you have a look at what I've got under here," Jasmine said softly, reaching with two hands for the hem of her skirt, lifting slowly, gently, unveiling the copper skin of her thighs, and then the soft textured material of her underwear, shamelessly exposing herself to the girl. She watched with amusement as the girl's eyes focused, startled, unbelieving, as if she was in a dream, as if it couldn't be true, as if it wasn't possible for her to be on her knees looking at a beautiful black woman's cream-colored underwear, seeing the way the thin material hugged the lewd, suggestive shape of her adult cunt, just inches away from her face. The girl whimpered softly as Jasmine let the fingers of her right hand flirt down onto her mound, rubbing in suggestive little circles, letting the girl watch. She purposefully resisted the temptation to tuck her fingers right down there, to find the sensitive bump of her adult clitoris and let the girl watch her play with it. She was already aroused enough. And she sincerely feared that if she let it build any further, she might find herself inching closer to the girl, insisting that Brianna thank her for the show by giving her a kiss. And as much as she wanted to feel that schoolgirl's nervous mouth pressed up against her, she didn't want it that way. She didn't want to coerce her. She wanted this girl to come to her willingly, knowingly, submissively, asking for it. "Mmmnn, that feels nice," Jasmine whispered softly, as she rubbed the tips of her feminine fingers over the gentle rise of her mound. "Do you like that?" "Mmmnghhh," the girl whimpered softly. "I don't know." "Well here then," the woman said. "Why don't you come a little closer." Jasmine reached out and slipped the fingers of her left hand onto the back of the girl's neck, coaxing her head forward, watching the 13-year-old's eyes close submissively, hearing her gasp softly. "That's it," Jasmine whispered as she pulled the schoolgirl's face in close, very close, so that her pretty mouth and delicate nose were no more an inch away. "Close you mouth now," Jasmine instructed, watching with pleasure as the girl did as she was told. "That's a good girl, now breath in, take a deep breath in through you nose." Jasmine had been at work all day. She knew what was in the air the girl was pulling into her nostrils—nothing pungent mind you, she always kept her pussy clean—but certainly some of the day's sweat, and on top of that, fresh, pheromone-rich, feminine sexual fluids. Jasmine knew that scent is a potent sexual trigger, and she was giving Brianna a good taste of that, making her take it in, letting her feel the intimacy of it, painting it onto her memory. She actually had the girl panting. Jasmine had seen it before but never in a girl so young—nervousness yes, anxiety yes, maybe even some fear, but intermixed with all of that, undeniable arousal, and hints of that peculiar feminine willingness, even desire, to be dominated and used sexually. The seed was planted. Jasmine let her skirt drop and reached down to help Brianna back up onto her feet. The girl was trembling nervously. "There now, that wasn't so bad was it?" Jasmine asked as she stooped and reached for her briefcase, cracking it quickly open, grabbing one of her business cards. "No," the girl stammered, obviously relieved that it seemed to be over. "Good," Jasmine said, handing the girl her umbrella and her business card. "Well then, don't be so nervous. Did you think I was going to rape you?" The girl blushed and shook her head. "Ok then, you go on home now. You can keep the umbrella. And this is my cell number," Jasmine said, pointing to her card. "So if you ever want to get a hold of me, if you ever want to talk, you call me at that number, anytime, day or night. Ok?" The girl blushed and nodded, focusing her nervous eyes on the woman's business card. "Ok then, off you go," Jasmine said, leading the girl to her apartment door, opening it for her. As the girl was leaving, Jasmine reached out with her right hand for her arm, causing her to pause momentarily in the doorway. Then she gave the girl a playful spank on the bum with her left hand. It was electric. She could feel the shock of that unexpected contact snapping through the girl's body. It was the first time she'd actually touched her in a sexual way. "Now don't forget," she insisted. "You be a good girl and give me a call." Brianna nodded obediently and then blushed as Jasmine gave her bum a friendly parting squeeze. "Ok, off you go now," Jasmine said. Jasmine Greely stood at her apartment door and smiled as she watched the pretty blonde schoolgirl scoot onto the elevator down the hall and disappear. At that point, Jasmine was absolutely certain that the girl would keep the details of their intimate encounter secret and safe. She was far less certain that the girl might call her sometime. In fact, she considered it unlikely—a distant possibility. Oh well...nothing ventured, nothing gained. And all it really cost her was an umbrella. About the Author: My name is Cynthia Amante, but as a penname, I have taken the name of my paternal great grandmother, the Countess Puella Almeja Amante. |