Blow Job In The Taxi

Headlights reflect from the wet asphalt. The deluge has passed but the world still drips and gutters still run. I drove past groups of revellers, freshly ejected from the nightclubs without late licences, the young and not so young. From the 15 year old girls with too much makeup, just making it past the judgemental eyes of the doormen, to the older women, out with the girls from the office on “Sharon” or “Kylie’s” leaving do. “I mean, I’m too old for this sort of thing you know”, they protest while simultaneously eying up the young man opposite them in the club, young enough to be their son …

But I’m here for her, out with the girls at the end of the month, pay cheques in the bank and four weeks of office monotony to drink into oblivion. She’s at the curb with two friends, I forget their names, let’s call them blonde and curly. Curly’s hair is dark brown and frames her face nicely, thoughts of a threesome with my girl and curly flash through my head. I smile to myself as the wheels stop moving and splash in the gutter and save that thought for later use.

She opens the door and is grabbed by blonde and curly, all three of them kissing and wishing fond farewells in a merrily drunken way. She slides in skirt riding up provocatively, and she knows it.

Blonde and curly bend forward into the car, chests on display.

“Do you ladies need a lift?” I ask, hoping the answer is no.

“We don’t take lifts from strange men. And we’ve heard about you”, says blonde, and everyone laughs.

The door closes and we’re off, leaving the merry couple to find a taxi. As they recede in the rear view mirror she says, “You weren’t taking any chances on getting wet then.” She’s referring to the long raincoat I’m wearing.

She smells of her usual perfume, larger and other people’s cigarettes. The cabin of the car fills with the aroma, displacing the clean washed air left by the storm.

Her hand strokes my leg making me shiver. Her fingers slip inside, she shrieks “You dirty boy!”. Pulling open the trench coat she reveals my nakedness. Except for the coat and a pair of trainers I am as nature intended.

The cold air hits my exposed flesh, eliciting goose bumps and making me more aware of the heat generated by the blood-rush in my groin. Her fingers circle around my cock and balls, not touching then. Her eyes watch me come to life, enjoying the spectacle. Before I m fully erect she has taken me in her fist and begun to slide the skin slowly back from my glans.

She squeezes me as I grow harder and begins to tug more firmly at my cock, driving becomes a distraction from the slow and sensuous hand job I’m getting. I’m probably smiling inanely by now. She shuffles awkwardly out of her seatbelt to enable her to bend low and lick the tip and taste me. I lift my arm to allow her access to my lap.

She raises her head, licking her lips, slowly, sensuously savouring the pre-cum. My balls are tightening, the sight of her hand working on me in my peripheral vision and the sensation of her fingers on my cock bring me swiftly to the edge of ecstatic oblivion.

She sees it in my face as we pull up at a red light. Her head is in my lap again, tongue and throat working their magic now. In just a few moments I’m there, hot semen flooding her mouth. “Mmm” is her approving verdict on my climactic issue. I throw my head back, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, mouth half-open in a gasping “Aaah!”.

The spasm fades, her mouth releases its prize and I begin to slip into the warm post-coital pool.

A horn blares behind me. The lights are green, a truck driver’s horn expresses his displeasure by proxy. I fumble the car into gear and head home.

“Do you always pay for taxi rides like that?” I ask.

“No. Only when the driver’s naked.” She smiles, “And you’re such a smooth driver I think you’ll be getting a tip when we get back …”

Tags: cfnm, clothed female naked male, car sex