Pass It On

PART ONE

‘Buses are such wonderful inventions,’ thought Sidney Q. Wickington as walked from the ticket counter toward the departure area. ‘Where else do you get to spend hour upon hour with total strangers, none of whom particularly cares to know you, none of whom will even think about you after they disembark? It’s absolutely perfect for me!’

Taking his small carry-on into his left hand, Sidney walked outside the depot, quickly spotting his transport. The silver bus with its blue and white sign stood empty as of yet; the driver stood smoking a cigarette, leaning easily against the side of his vehicle.

“Excuse me, sir, is this the express bus to Dallas?”

The driver flicked his cigarette away and stood up straight. “Yes, it is. Can I help you with something”

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Sidney Wickington, and I’ll be riding on your silver chariot today.” Sidney offered his hand to the bus driver, who accepted without qualm. “I always like to meet the person who is in charge of the driving before I board, just to make sure that I’m comfortable around them. And I can already tell that you and I are going to get along fine.”

For his part, the driver could only nod. After he had accepted Sidney’s hand in his own, he had lost the ability to speak, the ability to think…the ability to do anything but listen to Sidney’s words and accept them as gospel.

“Now, my good man, I just want to make sure that you understand the way things are going to go. Nothing strange is going to happen on this bus. Right?”

“Nothing strange is going to happen on this bus,” the driver parroted.

“Excellent. I do love a quick study. And you are going to keep your mind on your driving and your eyes on the road, and not mind whatever happens behind you.”

“Eyes on the road. Nothing happening behind me.”

“Superb, superb! You and I are going to get along so splendidly. Last thing,” Sidney paused to look at the man’s nametag, “Mr. Greene. While you should act normally around the other passengers, once the bus is started, you shouldn’t listen to them if they ask you to do something. I am the only person you should listen to and obey immediately. Do you understand?”

“Listen to you. Obey you.”

“Very good! Now stand there for a moment, won’t you? I’ll be right back.”

Sidney clambered into the bus, leaving the driver staring off into nothing, his hand still extended. Minutes passed, until Sidney finally reappeared, breathing a bit heavily. He returned to where the bus driver stood, and regripped the extended hand.

“Perfect! Oh, and you shouldn’t remember any of this; we were just having a nice, getting acquainted conversation prior to my getting on the bus.” Sidney released the bus driver’s hand. After standing completely still for a moment, the driver raised his hand to his head…and removed his hat

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, my good man, that will be all for now. I know that I’m in good hands on this trip.”

And with his business finished, Sidney turned around and walked back into the terminal, leaving a slightly confused bus driver who felt like he needed either a couple of Tylenol…or a stiff shot of bourbon.

Or both.

*****

Sidney Wickington never liked to board buses until the last minute. In that way, he was able to position himself among his fellow passengers to utilize his talents to best effect.

In this instance, he was able to sit in his favorite spot, almost exactly dead center of the bus, on the aisle. Even as he reached his chosen seat, the bus lurched into motion, and he let the motion propel him heavily into place.

“Looks like this is my stop,” he joked to the young woman in the seat next to him

Her only response was to roll her eyes as she continued to look out the window.

“You know, young people should be more polite,” he said, tapping her on the back of the hand.

She turned to face him, her eyes and mouth full of anger. “Why should we, you old pervert?”

His finger stopped tapping and remained solidly lodged against the top of her palm.

“Because you never know when you might meet someone who can change your life…permanently.”

Any response she might have made was caught in throat, as her eyes rolled up in her head and her body stiffened, her fingers gripping the armrests as if she was suddenly in intense pain.

His finger moved from her hand to her temple. “Sleep,” he said softly.

She slumped, as the tension that was there only a moment before disappeared.

He shook his head sadly, murmuring to himself “Why does everyone have to be so rude anymore?”

Still, his gaze lingered on the sleeping form of the young woman. Her baggy gray sweatshirt bore the logo of a major southern university. ‘Ahhhh…how I remember my own college days. Classes in the morning, parties all night. It’s amazing that I ever got anywhere at all in my life!’ he thought, chuckling at his own private joke.

Something inside him stirred at the thought of his own carefree college days, and suddenly one particular idea that had been mixed with the myriad memories of the past was isolated and carried to the front of his brain.

Looking over at his seatmate, Sidney grinned wolfishly. “Looks like I was right my dear,” he said softly to the uncomprehending co-ed. “Never be rude to the man who can…and is…going to change your life. Permanently.”

He settled himself comfortably into his own seat, his right hand encircling her left wrist.

And then he closed his eyes.

*****

The sign by the side of the road said “Thank you for your stay in ATLANTA, GA. Come back and see us soon.”

Having seen it many times before, Mr. Greene paid no attention. His mind was on his driving, his eyes on the road. In the lengthening shadows, he switched on the bus lights, anticipating the coming of night.

What happened behind him didn’t matter to him at all.

PART TWO

‘Express service…shit! 14 hours of hell, that’s what it is!”

Denise Burcham hated buses. ‘No, that’s not quite right,’ she corrected herself. ‘I hate traveling, period! Cars, trains, planes…they’re all bad enough. But buses have to be the worst!’

However, expediency and funding had come together to force Denise to take the quickest form of transport she could afford. Had she boarded one of the regular, stops-in-every-other-city buses, she would’ve been 12 hours late for her sister’s elopement. As it was, she might just make it to the courthouse to stop what Denise knew would be a regrettable error on her sister’s part. Which was why she was on the all-night express bus to Dallas.

‘In the fucking shitter, no less,’ she cursed mentally. ‘Damn my weak bladder!’

Still, she had to admit it was a cleaner toilet than most she had encountered on buses in the past. It didn’t smell like chemicals, or old piss. It smelled…sweeter, somehow. It was almost enough to make the need to use the little closet bearable.

Almost.

As she stood up, she rammed her elbow into the side of the metal box that served as a sink, and again was reminded that people of her size were not necessarily the models used when such bathrooms were designed. ‘Thank God this bus is half-empty! I don’t know what I’d do if I had to sit beside somebody and try to squeeze into what the bus company thinks is a suitable seat!’

She stood for a moment, her pants around her ankles, caught between the momentary pain of her elbow and the constant rage she felt at being large. Nothing ever seemed to fit her; nothing ever seemed to be made just for her; no one ever seemed to look at her and think nice things. Their faces mostly reflected disgust, or pity. Looking into the metal rectangle that passed for a mirror, Denise whispered softly, “Fuck me.”

Still, there was something…distracting…about the smell floating around the bathroom. She took a piece of toilet paper from the roll next to the toilet and blotted her crotch absently, trying to identify what it was about the scent that so captured her imagination. Her mind was so wrapped up in the thought that she didn’t notice when the wad of toilet paper fell from her hand…or when she began rubbing her finger over the mound that hid her clit.

Lost in thought, she remained standing, gazing into her own reflection, her finger’s motion quickening as her own juices lessened the friction over her clit. Sliding back and forth…back and forth…mmmmmmmmmmm….

At that moment, the bus hit a pothole, throwing Denise back into the door of the small toilet.

“What the hell am I doing?’ she whispered angrily, pulling her hand away from her clit. “Fingering myself in a fucking toilet, for God’s sake! I must be out of my mind! Thank God the door didn’t pop open when I fell against it!”

She trembled at the mental picture of her, naked from the waist down, falling out into the aisle of the bus, her hand still buried in her pussy. She again pulled some toilet paper from the roll and blotted herself, then flushed it down the toilet.

Beside the sink stood a small bottle of what looked like anti-bacterial soap. As she squirted some into her hand, the scent she had been so keen on just a bit earlier hit her full in the face again.

‘Oh, it’s the soap that’s making that smell.’ She brought her hand closer to her face. ‘Damn, that’s some good stuff.’ She took another deep whiff, closing her eyes. ‘I wonder where I can get some of thisssss….’

Lost in the scent, Denise Burcham’s mind simply hung on that last word, the pearly liquid in her palm held mere inches from her nose.

Had she been able, she might have been more than a bit startled by what happened next.

The ‘soap’ in her hand began to move.

It slid slowly across her palm, until it rested just below her nostrils. Then, like a dog rearing on its haunches begging for a treat, it started to rise, shaping itself into tendril no larger in diameter than a drinking straw. It continued to rise, reaching the woman’s left nostril. Pushing itself deeper. Then, apparently stretched to its limit, the movement stopped, but only for a moment.

Finding purchase somewhere inside the nostril, the creature started pulling the rest of itself up, away from the hand in which it was resting. Slowly, like white mucous flowing in reverse, it packed itself into the nasal cavity. Then, probing, sliding, and shaping itself as needed, it burrowed through the soft tissue behind the nose and into the cranium, using its tail to seal its passage.

At which point, Denise Burcham had a massive orgasm. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, she slid down the wall into the floor, unconscious.

And, reclining in his seat with his eyes closed, Sidney Wickington smiled.

His hand no longer held the wrist of the entranced co-ed next to him, but instead rested on her denim-covered crotch. Pressing down in one spot.

A spot that was now sporting a dark-colored stain.

*****

“WELCOME TO ALABAMA” read the newest sign the bus passed in the night.

Mr. Greene never took his eyes from the road.

PART THREE

Denise Burcham awoke to frantic knocking at the door of the bathroom.

“Hey, lady! Are you going to be in there all night? I’ve got to use the bathroom!”

“uhhhhhh….” She couldn’t remember much. Fragments of memory spun. Fingering herself. Orgasming. The smell of that wonderful soap.

“Are you alright in there? Do you need some help?”

“NO! I’ll be right out!” She didn’t want any more embarrassment. She’d already done something so seedy, so completely unlike her….

‘But you enjoyed it,’ the thought came, unbidden, into her head.

As she slowly pulled herself up off the floor, she acknowledged that she had never cum like that before, either with anyone else or by herself.

‘You’d love to do it again, too.’ Again, the thought came floating across her mind as if in someone else’s voice.

Pulling up her pants, she thought that, at the right time, in the right place….

‘No. Soon. Here.’

And with that thought, Denise froze. ‘Something is very wrong here,’ she had time to think….

The pounding at the door began again. “Lady, I’m going to get the driver if you don’t come out of there!”

Not wanting that, Denise cracked the door.

“Really, I’m okay. I think I hit my head on door when we hit a pothole, but I’m okay. Just let me wash my face, and I’ll be right out.”

The red-faced man standing outside the door looked at her doubtfully, but, spurred by his bladder, nodded and mumbled something about “just hurry up” before quickly averting his eyes.

Her pants were still unfastened, and she flashed a bit of her panties through the door as he watched.

A fact that did not seem to bother Denise Burcham one bit.

Reluctantly, she did fasten her pants, and bent quickly to retrieve the bottle of soap she had knocked to the floor when she fell.

Holding it in her hand, she relived the intense sensations the smell of the soap had given her. Looking at the bottle, she wondered….

‘Take it. No one will notice,’ said the voice in her head.

She slid the bottle into her front pocket, careful to remind herself to remove once she got back to her seat.

Then, smiling happily, she left the bathroom and walked back up the aisle.

*****

Roger Cord watched the fat woman waddle back down the aisle to her seat, wondering what she seemed so happy about.

‘If she really did hit her head, maybe she addled her brains so much, she doesn’t realize she’s been locked in the damn toilet for two hours! Stupid cunt!’

Cord eased cautiously into the toilet, expecting to find a mess. Finding only the normal metal fixtures typical of such things, he was at least grateful that he didn’t have to wade into someone else’s leavings.

‘The fat cow was even considerate enough to leave the toilet seat up for me.’

Unzipping, Cord pulled out his cock and waited a moment for the piss to work its way up the length. ‘Been holding it in so long, now it doesn’t want to come out!’ In the meantime, he began to sniff the air.

‘Huh. This is the nicest smelling bus toilet I’ve ever been in. Wonder what they use to keep it smelling so good?’ Occupied with that question, he barely noticed when his urine began streaming into the bottom of the metal bowl.

He continued inhaling the scent of the bathroom, his eyes looking up at the ceiling without really seeing it. As his bladder finally emptied, Cord stood, his dick in his hand, unmoving.

Until he finally began moving his hand slowly down the length of his penis.

And back up again.

Squeezing slightly, with his thumb and forefinger in an ‘O’ around the base.

Until he was hard as rock.

It was only when his ministrations actually began to hurt that he looked down at what he was doing. ‘Sonofabitch! What the hell I am doing?’

Of course, by then, it was much too late for him to stop.

*****

Denise Burcham made sure that, when she returned to her seat, she unfolded the blanket she had brought with her. After carefully removing the ‘soap’ she had stolen from the bathroom and placing it in her purse, she sat down in the middle of the two seats she had to herself, and leaned them both back, covering herself in the blanket once she was comfortable.

She had been grateful that the bus was nearly empty, since it meant she didn’t have to share her seats with someone else. Now, she was grateful because no one was sitting across the aisle from her. So that, when she eased open her pants and reached her hand under her panties, no one observed her movements. No one saw the rhythmic motion of her fingers between her already slick pussy lips. No one watched as her head thrashed back and forth, as her body jerked as if being intermittently shocked by electric current.

While he could not see her directly, Sidney Wickington didn’t need to. Lying quiescent in his seat, he could sense every time the core of her being was assailed by the constant battering of orgasm after orgasm. Until it finally collapsed under the assault.

Denise Burcham was no longer unhappy with herself. None of it mattered to her anymore. She lay reclined in her seat, her fingers finally stilled, a smile on her face.

The same smile that was on the face of Sidney Wickington.

*****

Roger Cord’s face had gone from its customary red to near purple.

He had lost track of how long he had been running his hand over his cock, of how long he had stood on the edge of orgasm. All he really felt was that something was missing, something that would allow him to finish, and that he needed it desperately.

It was desperation that finally lead him to open the cabinet below the sink, to find several dispenser bottles of what the label identified as antibacterial soap. Grabbing one, Roger was distracted for a moment by the scent…but only for a moment.

Placing the dispenser bottle on the counter, he quickly pumped out a handful of the pearly-white cream, and began running it over his erection.

Almost immediately, he felt an easing in the pressure in his penis. A sense of relief, a sense of peace flooded through his body as he massaged the gooey substance over his shaft. As he pumped faster, the ‘soap’ ran down his crotch and onto his ball sac. Somewhere in what was left of his consciousness, Cord thought ‘It feels like someone is squeezing my balls!’ A thought that was followed more or less immediately by ‘uuuuuuhhhHHHHHHH!!!’ as he came like a fountain in the toilet.

His knees giving way from the intensity of his relief, Cord found himself prostrate on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. Leaning against the metal lip of the basin, he could not see what was happening around his dick. Perhaps it was a small blessing that he couldn’t.

The ‘soap’ that he had used to bring himself off was slowly pooling, moving from individual strands into a mass around the base of his penis. From there, small tendrils were extending up his cock, moving quickly toward the head. Even as Cord started realizing that something felt wrong down there, the first of the tendrils reached the opening at the top.

Startled, Cord jerked his head up and stared down at his crotch. Just in time to see the first of the tendrils bury itself in his penis. Followed by a second, and a third.

Any further thoughts, such as trying to stop the invasion of his cock, were swamped by the incredible pain of a biological entity forcing itself up the tube so recently evacuated by his jism. As his body went rigid in pain, the last thought Cord had before passing out was ‘OHHHH SSSSSHHHHHIIIIIITTTTtttttt….’

*****

In his seat, Sidney continued to grin. His hand had slipped inside the waistband of the young co-ed, and, as he stroked her, she moaned and shook in her forced slumber.

*****

The sign by the side of the road this time read “WELCOME TO MISSISSIPPI.”

Mr. Greene only had eyes for the road ahead.

PART FOUR

Samantha Cord timidly approached the door of the bus toilet.

She had been sleeping fitfully since the bus had left Atlanta, and when she awoke, Roger was not in the seat next to her. After waiting for more than hour for him to return, she had finally gotten up herself.

At Roger’s insistence, they had sat in the second row of seats from the front, away from the rest of the bus’ passengers. Not that there were that many to begin with.

As Sam walked back toward the door of the restroom, she passed a large woman covered by a blanket, apparently dreaming of something nice, as she was smiling in her sleep. A few rows back from her, an older man was also asleep, also smiling. Beside him, a girl that could be his daughter turned restlessly, her face covered in sweat.

Beyond that there were several rows of empty seats. The only other passengers on the bus sat in the next-to-last row: a young Hispanic couple, both asleep, the young woman with her head in the man’s lap, her legs curled up into her chest. A few more steps, and she stood in front of the door of the only place left that Roger could be.

She raised her hand to knock…and then hesitated.

When Sam and Roger had gotten married five years earlier, he had been a caring and romantic person, always bringing her flowers, calling on the phone, taking her away for weekends in the country where they would rarely leave the bed.

The last few years, though…they had seen a deterioration in their relationship. As the economy had tightened and money had gotten scarce, Roger had changed. No more flowers. No more weekend trips. Fewer and fewer phone calls. Their sex life had dwindled to once a week, if he was in the mood.

Through it all, Samantha had held on to her belief that things would get better. Even as he ignored her, she kept trying to show him how much she loved him. Keeping house. Cooking. Kissing him, touching him.

And then he had hit her.

She had only wanted to remind him that his mother was coming by for dinner; she had walked into the den and walked in front of the television, saying his name….

She explained the bruise on her face to his mother as a misadventure in the shower.

It had happened a few times since, and each time he had gotten down on his knees and begged her forgiveness, promising it would never happen again. And each time, she forgave. Wondering about when the next time would come.

So she hesitated, knowing that the next time could come any time.

But he had been gone so long….

She knocked.

Once.

Then again.

“Roger? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

*****

Unlike Denise Burcham, Roger Cord felt no pleasure after his body was invaded.

His body was on fire, each nerve flooded with severe pain.

If Cord were aware enough to reason, he might have understood that the creature had used his cock as a convenient gateway, but that its true target was his brain. And, with the shortest distance between two points being a straight line, his spinal cord provided the most perfect pathway from his nether regions to his spongy control center.

And so, Roger Cord was simply a mass of quivering flesh, writhing in pain on the floor of the toilet, when his wife knocked on the door.

“Roger? Are you in there? Are you okay?”

Roger Cord, the man, was in no position to answer that question.

The creature that was slowly squeezing itself up Roger’s spinal cord was in no position to answer it either.

Sidney Wickington just smiled…and began to move his lips.

*****

“Sam….”

She heard Roger call her name through the door.

“Roger? Honey? Is something wrong?” She pressed her head against the door, trying to hear him.

“I think I fell. I’m not sure. Hard to think….”

“Can you open the door, sweetheart? I’ll come in and help you.”

There was a long pause.

”Roger! Talk to me!”

“I think I can move enough to open the lock. Stand back.”

She stood back a step; a minute passed, then two. Until finally, she heard the lock click on the door, and the sign changed from “occupied” to “vacant.”

Samantha opened the door and stepped inside.

*****

When you are in a room the size of a closet, 3/4ths of which is taken up by a sink and toilet, there isn’t much room to sprawl.

Yet, Roger Cord was indeed sprawled in the toilet, his head lying against the base of the metal toilet bowl, his legs above his head, resting against the cabinet under the sink.

Had Samantha taken a moment to think, she might have wondered what Roger could have been doing that would have possibly gotten him jammed into this position.

Instead, she immediately knelt down beside his head. “Honey, are you all right? What happened? Can you move?”

“Ohhhh, my head. Keep it down a little bit, okay? I have a serious headache!”

She lowered her voice slightly. “Can you move?”

“I think I can, if you help me. You’ll have to help me turn a bit, so I can push myself up.”

She pulled his legs outward from where they rested against the sink, enabling him to push his body into a sitting position, with his legs blocking open the door.

At that point, she noticed his cock. Out of his pants. Pointing at her.

“You…you…you’ve got a hard-on!” she gaped.

“I’ve got a headache! Who cares about my cock?”

Under normal circumstances, Samantha would have been more concerned with whether her husband was seriously hurt. However, he had been holding her wrist ever since she had helped him turn over.

And his hand was covered in ‘soap.’

As was his cock.

In short order, three things happened:

Roger found himself on the toilet seat, to make himself more comfortable;

Samantha was on her knees, Roger’s cock buried up to its hilt in her throat;

And Roger found himself sporting a wolfish grin. Just like Sidney Wickington.

*****

The sign across the bridge said “WELCOME TO LOUISIANA.”

Mr. Greene never even noticed.

PART FIVE

Samantha Cord was quite content.

When her husband came like a geyser down her throat, she swallowed everything. Including the ‘soap’ that had covered it.

She panicked for a moment when she felt something moving in her throat, when she felt what she thought was cum reversing its course and starting to travel back up toward her mouth.

She tried to yell, to scream, but with her airway blocked could only make a slight squeaking noise. She tugged on her husband’s leg, but he lay with his head back and eyes closed, a feral grin on his face.

In a few moments, the mass that had invaded her throat had risen into her nasal passages, and she gasped desperately for air through her mouth. But by the time she had recovered enough to think about screaming, a thin tendril had extended itself into her cranium, right into the pleasure center of her brain.

And, soon after that, Samantha too sported a grin. Which was mirrored on the face of her husband.

Which started on the face of Sidney Wickington.

*****

When Samantha awoke again, she quickly stood up, kissing her husband on the lips.

For the first time in years, he grabbed her and kissed her in return.

The problems of the past were forgotten. All that mattered was here, and now.

She stripped for him, as he sat watching her, his cock again growing hard at the sight of his once timid wife doing a strip tease in front of the still open door of the bathroom.

When she was finished, she fingered her glistening pussy, then slowly brought her finger to her mouth, tasting the juice that had blossomed there.

He stood, stepping out of his pants, and then pulled her into the toilet. Bending her over the toilet bowl, he spread her legs, and without preamble began sliding his cock in and out of her pussy. It was not making love; it was a savage, animal coupling, pounding her from behind as she cried and screamed and begged for more.

She came once, then once again, and a third time as he loosed his own orgasm into her.

And, as he held her in the afterglow of their frenzied fucking, he heard a noise behind him.

The petite Hispanic woman stood at the doorway, her eyes and mouth reflecting the same ‘O’ of shock.

“¿Qué?” she managed to get out of her mouth…before Roger turned and threw a handful of ‘soap’ in her face.

*****

Rosa Hernandez had been sound asleep, when the noise from the open bathroom door had awakened her.

She had been dreaming of happier times, when her family had been together, instead of scattered to each side of the US, doing whatever it took to earn money. Migrant farming, domestic help, casual labor…more than once, she had regretted leaving to elope with Francisco, causing her family to tell her to stay away, as she was no longer considered a “good Catholic girl.” So she and Francisco had made their own way, she as a cook, he as a laborer…until the phone call from her mother had changed it all. “Your papa is dying, Rosa. Please come home and be with him before he dies. He needs to see you.”

So they boarded a bus in Florida, and another in Atlanta, and now where only a few hours from their goal. And when she got there, she had her own surprise for the family that had displaced her….

She rubbed her belly, thinking warm thoughts of the child still growing within, knowing that it would bring her closer to her mother and her older sisters, who already had at least one child each. Whether she could close the wound that existed between her and her father….

‘Why don’t those damn gringos stop making so much noise?’ Rosa thought to herself. Fed up, she finally decided to give them a piece of her mind, even if they likely wouldn’t understand it.

It was only a few steps from her seat to the open bathroom door, and she stood shocked and silent as the bare ass of the naked gringo man came toward her, then thrust forward again into his woman. She had never watched anyone else have sex, had never wanted to…but there was something stirring about it, something exciting.

Watching them, she never even noticed the smell permeating the air around the toilet, surrounding her, even as she breathed it deep into her lungs.

By the time the woman and the man finally came together and rested against each other in the bathroom, Rosa was sweating, her hand inside the waistband of her simple skirt, fingering her own pussy in reflected lust.

When the man turned to her, she meant to back away, to apologize for intruding on their lovemaking. But all that could come from her mouth was the word “What?”

Then, the white liquid the man threw at her blinded her. It landed everywhere…including her open mouth.

Soon after, she was on her knees, her fingers desperately trying to bring her to climax.

Samantha and Roger decided to help her. Samantha did her part by lying on her back, licking and sucking the girl’s pussy; Roger again let his cock be used like a pacifier, buried deep in the girl’s throat. Rosa let the passion carry her away, until she fell unconscious, covered in cum, after her third orgasm.

Eyes still closed, Sidney Wickington smiled a Texas-sized smile. It was echoed immediately by Denise, Roger, Samantha…and Rosa.

*****

This time, the sign said “WELCOME TO TEXAS.”

Mr. Greene’s could have cared less.

PART SIX

Francisco Hernandez had loved only one woman in his life. When he first met Rosa, he had kidded his friends that she would be the woman he married. Through what passed for school in their run-down neighborhoods, he had carried her books, studied with her, and even gotten beat up for her on occasion. That her father had thought him not good enough to marry his daughter didn’t matter. He knew he was going to marry her, and that’s what he did.

And, though life was never easy, they managed, and they still loved each other madly. He would come home at night, and she would have dinner prepared, and afterward they would make love until exhausted. More than that, he would soon be a father. To Francisco Hernandez, life was as near perfect as he had ever thought possible.

He felt Rosa shaking him, trying to get him awake, something that was never easy to do at any time. Once asleep, only a siren next to his ear was likely to pull Francisco from dreamland.

When he did open his eyes, he thought he must still be dreaming. Rosa was kneeling beside him in her seat…naked from the waist up! And while he loved seeing her breasts, if he wasn’t dreaming, then his wife must have gone completely insane.

“Wake up sleepy-boy! I have a surprise for you!”

“Rosa? What?”

“Look at my breasts, my love. Look at what has happened!”

As Francisco watched, Rosa squeezed her generous breasts. And, first from one nipple, and then the other, a small amount of milk dribbled from the tip.

Francisco shook his head sharply. ‘I have to be asleep!’ he thought, starting to sit up in his seat. Starting to, but not quite making it when Rosa jumped into his lap and pinned his shoulders with her hands.

“Silly boy! You’re not going anywhere! I need you to suck the milk in my breasts, and tell me how it tastes!”

Francisco knew he was still dreaming then, at that moment. His wife never was so bold, never so forward. So he was still in dreamland after all. And the beautiful woman that was his dream wife wanted him to suck her breasts, which he would be delighted to do in any case. So he let her pull his head to her left nipple.

He was enjoying the dream immensely…until the milk started to move in his mouth.

*****

As Sidney Wickington continued smiling his satisfied smile, the group of five people behind him took turns milking each other in fantastically exotic ways.

At one point, Roger was taking Denise Burcham from behind, as she gave Samantha’s pussy a tongue-lashing. Francisco was being ridden by his wife, who held his head to her breasts, letting him go only when he sucked all the milk from her newly lactating bosom.

When they all had cum at least once, Denise began sucking Francisco’s cock, as Denise rimmed her asshole with her tongue. Rosa spread her ass cheeks and begged Roger to ass-fuck her, which an extremely difficult but rewarding chore.

In the end, they would have continued making each other cum all the way into Dallas, had not Sidney Wickington opened his eyes and stood up in the aisle.

All activity ceased as he turned to face them, and they all quickly dropped to their knees before the one who now held them in thrall.

He smiled down at them, letting them bask in his approval of their newly found sexual liberation. Then, he concentrated for a moment, mentally giving them their final task for this particular trip.

At his command, the two men rose and moved past him, lifting his seatmate from her chair and standing her in the aisle. Sidney moved to her, and touched his finger to her temple again, unlocking the mental binders that had kept her asleep.

*****

When Tanya Kessen awoke, her head was filled with cotton wool. She looked around her, and her first thought was “Why am I standing up?”

Her second thought was “Who are these guys holding me?”

Her third was “Why are they taking off my clothes?”

Indeed, Roger and Francisco were stripping her very methodically, removing her sweatshirt, her pants, her socks, her bra and panties. And, instead of doing anything about it, Tanya let them do it, helping them from time to time by lifting a foot or raising an arm.

Something inside her head said she should be worried that she WASN’T worried about this.

Something else inside her head said ‘Shhhhhhhhhh.’

Directly in front of her was the man who had sat down beside her when the bus started in Atlanta. That was the last clear memory she had of the entire trip. Until now.

Now, that man was being circled by three women, who were, piece-by-piece, removing his clothing. Like some pagan ritual of old, they moved in precise rhythm, hampered only by the narrowness of the aisle. Until he too stood naked before her.

The other men and women sank to their knees, leaving only Tanya and the naked man standing. That’s when the man smiled, and began to speak.

“My dearest Tanya. The last piece of the puzzle, so to speak. You must have many questions.

“But I will not answer them now. Once we are done, you will have all the guidance you need. You will be the beneficiary of years of knowledge and experiences…and whether you enjoy it or not…it will be your burden for a long, long time to come.

“Let’s begin.”

With that, Roger stood and moved behind Tanya, and Francisco, still on his knees, moved in front of her.

Roger began kneading Tanya’s breasts, even as he kissed and licked his way across her neck and shoulders. Francisco licked and sucked his way up her pussy lips, pausing only briefly to suck hard on her clit before working his way back down again.

Meanwhile, the three women began to use their hands and mouths on Sidney’s cock, licking and sucking and fondling and squeezing. To Tanya’s amazement, what arose from their ministrations was the largest tool she’d ever seen – 18 inches long if not more, and seemingly as big around as a salami! It was to a normal cock the difference between a rifle and a bazooka. For a moment, Tanya felt terror rising like a wave in her mind.

But the wave never crested; Roger and Francisco increased their efforts at stimulating her, while the voice in her mind told her to relax, that it would all work out correctly.

When Sidney’s cock reached its full length, the ritual changed again. Now Roger lifted her from behind and placed her on the back of the kneeling Francisco. He slid her down until her ass was directly on top of Francisco’s. Then, Francisco adjusted his position until she was flat on her back…and her pussy was directly in line with Sidney’s cock.

The three women led Sidney forward, each with a hand on his fully extended member. As he approached, Rosa and Denise let go, each taking a position at Tanya’s side. They each took one of her legs, lifting them up into a “V,” putting her cunt on display.

Samantha lead Sidney’s cock right to the entrance of Tanya’s pussy, then, using her free hand, she spread the pussy lips and put the head of the cock inside them.

As Sidney looked down at her, Tanya thought she saw something change in his face. “For what I am about to take from you, I am sorry. Hopefully, what you get in return will be worth it.”

Sidney thrust…and Tanya’s world fragmented again in soul-splitting pain.

*****

In the dark, voices whispered to Tanya. Tales of a race of shapeless creatures known as the Nomads, who, not having a home of their own, chose to roam the universe inhabiting the homes of others. They were traders in experience, in memory; their ability to provide a glimpse inside the cultures and mores of other species by actually living through that species was reviled by some, celebrated by others.

That was how one of the Nomads’ ships had landed on the Earth years before, searching for new species with which to bond. But, in this case, most of the Nomads had died before a way was found for them to inhabit the bodies of the race known as humans. And few humans refused what they had to offer: increased mental ability, photographic memory, mental control through touch, and the ability to create small “slivers” of themselves, which could then root in the minds of others, providing mental control of those infected as well as a pipeline to all of their memories and experiences.

And, once in a great while, a Nomad would procreate; to pass on the genetic knowledge gained in the body of a human, the creature would split itself in two, depositing the newly created duplicate self into a different host. Thus, the Nomads would continue, not overwhelming the human race, but collecting experiences and fostering new ones that would one day be returned to the stars for the entertainment and education of other races, other species…other galaxies.

That she had been chosen to be such a host was partially luck of place, and partially luck of age. Being in college at a major university provided so many more opportunities for studying the youth of a burgeoning planet; as well, perhaps some hosts could be found from other countries, extending the reach of the Nomads study to other parts of the planet.

The whispers began to fade away again, except for one last voice. ‘For each gift we offer to your species, there is also something that is subtracted. We offer incredible power, but lack of freedom – you will be compelled to seek out and mine new experiences and memories, willingly or not. You can control others, but not to any appreciable personal benefit. You will observe and experience the sexual experiences and orgasms of many others, but you yourself will never again experience one in your own body. You will always be healthy, and always be youthful, until such a time after you have spawned into another host and may choose to end your own life; but you will never bring another human life into this world.

‘We are a blessing and we are a curse. But you have been chosen. And, for now, you have no other choice.’