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Teenage boy is forced to suck cock for beer.

Scaffolding!

Something so basic, so elemental, so strong. And so hard.

A feeling.

A movement held her gaze. A subliminal thought flashed through her mind. There on the scaffolding was a young builder looking seriously handsome. Sally stared in awe, gazing at his firm body working in the heat of the day. The subliminal thought gatecrashed her psyche; a repeated one, a guilty one - of her neighbour Mrs. McGill's son, now a strapping twenty year old, himself an apprentice builder and not too unlike the man she was staring at now.

The guilty feeling aroused in her a sensual longing she didn't want to admit to. And the results were the same as when she'd looked at the neighbour's boy when he'd been doing some neighbourly repair work on her house last week; she touched herself.

Stealing glances from a safe distance, private and unobserved, she'd rubbed herself through the fabric of her dress, gazing at the now fully grown man she'd known since he was a boy, gazing at his chiselled torso, his manly pecs, at his abdominals straining with his exertions, at his well developed biceps, his triceps, at his strong muscular thighs, at perfectly firm buttocks enclosed in dirty khaki shorts.

Her breaths had come in short gasps. Her touch instinctive and barely conscious at all. Still, she had slowly become aware of it and knew she should stop. And here she was doing the same thing now.

She admonished herself. She was on a bus for goodness sake. Frustration would only fuel her life's disappointment. She fought a tormented battle with her response, desperate to control the fermenting desire of a sexually frustrated woman that was threatening to run away with her, just as it had done when looking at Mikey from next door.

Yes, she admitted to herself, a sexually frustrated woman. How long had it been? Three years? Four? And more to the point how long had it been since the sex had been good, if it ever had?

Lost in sad contemplation once more, she sat back down and didn't even notice the bus was moving again. It took more than a long minute before she realized it was.

The moment she did notice was the jostle from a large pothole that bumped her back to reality ... and the simultaneous realization that there was another passenger on board.

Another passenger!

She felt a tingle rise up her neck. A slight clearing of the throat told her it was a man. A man! Just thinking the word excited her. She toyed with it in her mind. Man. Said it to herself slowly, stretching out the vowel. Maaan. Why did the thought of it being a man intrigue her so, she asked herself foolishly. Man. She knew the answer. Of course she did. It really wasn't hard to understand.

He was sitting five or six rows back, far enough for her not to feel in an uncomfortable situation but close enough for her to feel ... what? Observed? Yes, she was being observed. She could tell.

He hadn't said a word. But Sally thought she could hear his thoughts just as she thought she could feel his stare fixed on the back of her head.

She was his quarry, his prey.

He wanted to fuck her. She was sure of it. She could sense his primal urge.

To fuck. So primitive, so rudimentary, so unsophisticated.

He wants to fuck me, she thought again. And it was a thought that knotted her up inside.

Because Sally Jones liked it.

God, she liked it.

She liked the thought. She liked the feeling it gave her. It was a silent and brooding one. A complete sexual feeling. More so when the man shifted seats ... brooding and sexual ... not settling until he was now only a couple of rows behind her.

She was his prey.

Brooding and sexual. Very, very sexual.

She felt the bus pick up speed, rattle over more potholes, then turn a bend as it swung round a dramatic cliff road. Far below the sea was stirring again. She could feel it.

He was close enough now that she could smell the aroma of stale sweat and labour radiate off his body.

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