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A failed date, and the journey home


Submitted:Jan 25, 2014    Reads: 1,459    Comments: 10    Likes: 5   


I hailed the black cab just as the rain began to fall, heavy drops splashing on the pavement, my bag held above my head in a pointless attempt to keep my hair dry, my dress already damp. I felt the chill in the air as the driver swung around, the orange light welcoming in the bleakness of the early morning.

I pulled the door shut behind me and told the driver my destination. He looked over his left shoulder, appraising me quickly before turning his attention to the road ahead, the taxi starting off before I'd had a chance to fasten my seatbelt. I decided to live dangerously. Settling back into the seat, my mind wandered back over the events of the evening.

A blind date, set up by friends at work. Cocktails and dancing- his idea. I wore my favourite Chanel little black dress, my new Louboutin patent pumps and a simple choker at my neck. The evening had started well, he was polite, chatty, good looking, attentively listening to my answers as we went through that 'getting to know you' phase.

It continued to go well until his fourth cocktail within the hour, and his eyes began to linger on the waitresses attributes for longer periods of time. As he was happy paying, I stuck with it and ordered another Manhattan.

Careful to watch my alcohol intake, I felt the minutes drag as I listened to another drunken tirade from him, finally dragging him on to the dance floor, giving me the opportunity to blow some steam of my own. After trying to pull me close to him a few times and getting a hard elbow in the ribs for his trouble, he finally seemed to get the message and left the floor. Nursing yet another cocktail and watching bleary-eyed from our table, he watched as I burned up the dance floor.

I attracted a fair amount of male attention, but I just wanted to dance. I'd worn my hair up, but as I danced it fell loose, my auburn tresses flying.

I lost track of the time. Looking over to where my date had been sitting, I noticed he was nowhere to be seen. I took that as a sign there'd be no second date. I smiled inwardly. I'm not usually a bitch, but thought I could make an exception for him. I made my way over to the bar, collecting my clutch bag from behind the bar, giving the barman a tip for being a gentleman and made my way outside.

The taxi weaved through the streets, the lights reflecting in the puddles, casting eerie patterns against the windows. They had steamed up. I looked in the mirror, catching the drivers eye. He looked tired, his eyes heavy. I noticed his beard had flecks of grey, his mouth small, nose aquiline. He returned his gaze to the road.

The diesel engine bubbled and throbbed beneath me, the seat vibrating as he came to a stop at a set of traffic lights. I could feel the vibrations through my body, the slightly damp dress pressing against my skin. Almost without thinking, I lifted my right hand, caressing my breasts through the fabric. My nipples stiffened, partly from the chill of the air, partly from my frustration at the evening.

I closed my eyes, hand cupping my right breast, thumb gently teasing the nipple. Lost in thought, a moan escaped my lips, bringing me back to earth.

I looked up, the drivers eyes on mine, then he carefully adjusted the mirror so his gaze was level with my breasts. I could see the lower half of his face, his tongue licking his lips, a half smile playing across his mouth.

My hand returned to my breast, massaging the flesh and pinching at my nipple. The taxi stopped again, the red traffic light flooding the cab in it's glow. The fat throb of the engine seemed to permeate the inside of the taxi, my body in tune with its resonance. I laid one arm along the back of the seat, my other hand ran down my stomach, across my crotch, then along my thigh.

I was aware of the light turning green, the ambient light inside the taxi changing and several seconds passed before we began our journey once more. The streets at three AM were empty, the taxi crawling along, the driver's attention not fully on his job.

My dress lifted easily, my legs parted, giving him a view of the black triangle of silk covering my mound. I looked up as he adjusted the mirror once more, dipping lower, taking in the view. I could feel the heat between my legs and knew the dampness had nothing to do with the rain.

Feeling bolder, I lifted one leg, placing a well-heeled foot on the back of the drivers seat. I ran my fingers over my mound, slowly, up and down. I could feel my clitoris harden under my gentle touch, not realising just how turned on I was until that moment. Lifting my right hand, I took my fingers into my mouth, wetting my fingers before slipping them back down, this time under my thong.

My fingers rubbed above my clitoris, my trimmed hair rough against my fingertips. I moaned again, this time aware of myself. My tongue flicked along my lips, slightly parted, my breathing shallow, but slow. I dipped my fingers lower.

My slit was wet. I could feel the silk of my panties already damp. I twisted my raised knee to one side, opening myself up full. My fingers hidden behind the silk began to knead my pussy, fingertips gently rubbing my hardening nub.

The taxi stole along the roads, the low gear causing the diesel engine to hum, sending waves of pleasure through my body. The windows dripped with condensation, hiding my modesty from the outside world. In here, the show was just for the driver.

At the next lights, I stood. The driver turned and watched as I slid my thong down my legs before returning to the back seat, foot once again raised, the heel of my shoe in danger of puncturing the back of his head. Legs akimbo, I resumed my ministrations.

Fingers pressed against my clitoris, circular motions bringing a glow to my face and chest. As the light turned green once more, I raised my fingers to my mouth, licking them clean, wetting them. A blare from a horn behind us jerked the driver back to reality, and he set off again, eyes on the mirror. My fingers dipped back down, slipping one, then two fingers inside myself.

I had no idea where we were or how long the journey had taken, my mind focused on just one thing. I began to finger myself, a regular beat, almost in tune with the engine's throb. We turned a corner, I felt myself moving across the seat, my left hand holding hard to the headrest of the seat next to me, my leg braced against the seat in front. My fingers deep inside me, moving deeper, harder, faster.

His eyes never left the mirror. I gasped as my fingers rubbed that spot deep inside me, the tingling starting in my stomach, rising to my upper abdomen, spreading to my thighs. My thumb rubbing my clitoris as I neared my ecstatic peak, the climax driving through my body, my eyes rolling, the fireworks in my brain, bright lights behind my eyes.

My fingers slick with juice, my lips pulled back from my teeth. I heaved for breath as I came, my head falling forward as the orgasms wracked my body. I continued pressing my fingers hard into me, fingering myself to another, then another climax.

My face was wet with perspiration, I realised the cab had stopped. I pushed my hair from my eyes and looked outside, recognising the familiar colour of my front door. My enigmatic smile felt permanently etched on my face. I straightened my skirt, picking my thong from the seat next to me, opened my bag and took out my purse.

The driver had turned, looking at me. I looked at him quizzically, the purse in my hand. He shook his head.

"Lady, for that show, no charge."

I felt spent, tired after the long evening and replete from my orgasms. I thanked him, and opened the door before turning and handing him my thong. He took it, slipping it into the pocket of his jacket.

Standing on the pavement in the cold morning air, I waited until the fat throb had disappeared before I climbed the steps to my front door, desperately needing sleep.





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