Taxi

AN: You all send me a lot of feedback wondering about my own various fantasies for whatever reason (don't get me wrong, I love it—I like your curiosity). And seeing as how one of the things that turns me on is telling people my fantasies and hearing other people's fantasies, here's a fairly vanilla one for you. Feel free to comment your own fantasies below, or describe them more fully in a private message. If this gets enough positive feedback or interest, I might start posting more of these.

The narrator, by the way, IS me. So if I describe something about myself, or how I respond to things ... I'm not being unrealistic or imaginative in the slightest. I'm being true to my own reactions. Do with that what you will.

* * *

This is all very new to me.

The teasing. The quiet, growled demands that become more intense if I disobey. The punishments that, instead of deterring me, only seem to make me more needy. More wet. More unstable. More willing to do whatever it is he asks me to do.

I glance to my left, to where he sits on the opposite side of the taxi, his chin propped up in his hand as he watches the rainy cityscape flash by out the window. He scares me a little bit, I think, but in a good way. A way that makes me squirm in my own seat as I watch him bounce his knee up and down. A knee he draped me over last night.

To the outside eye, we're a completely unassuming couple. I'm wearing a sweater dress and overcoat, bright umbrella discarded near my rain boot clad feet. He's wearing jeans and a thermal shirt, his own leather jacket draped over his lap, shining with raindrops. As if he senses me watching him, he looks over and flashes a sweet smile, nothing of the dominant man I know in that expression at all. In fact, he looks like he did when I first met him—sweet and playful, if a bit rough around the edges.

I return the smile a bit more tightly than I had hoped, but he only laughs.

"You seem a little tense," he says.

I lift a shoulder in what I hope is a nonchalant half shrug. You know, the kind they do in books and movies. "I wouldn't say tense."

He lifts a brow. "Oh?"

"Anticipatory."

"Anticipatory," he repeats slowly. His eyes slide to the front, to the cab driver, before they come back to me. "And what, pray tell, do you think is going to happen tonight?"

My second shrug is a bit shakier.

"You know this is just a birthday party, right?" His lips curl up at the corners. "With decent people."

I snort under my breath and roll my eyes. "Well, you aren't 'decent people,' now, are you?"

He tips his head back and laughs out right at that, and I can't help my own smirk. I love surprising him like that. I love getting the best of him, beating him at his own game, doing the exact opposite of what he's used to.

"Smart ass," he says, grinning. He pats the middle seat, his eyes darkening a bit. "Come sit next to me. You're so far away."

"Is that a request, or—"

"It's an order."

I swallow, furrowing my brow at the mischievousness that has so quickly replaced the playfulness. A fine line with him, I learned. Before, it took effort for me to turn a conversation sexual. With him, it turns in half a second and I'm climbing on top of him before I have time to register what's happening.

I glance meaningly at the cab driver, who is clearly eavesdropping, clearly glancing periodically at us in his rearview mirror.

But his grin only darkens as he turns to the cab driver and says "You know, you've been such a good driver." He pats him on the shoulder. "Do you think you could take this as a thank you?"

I see the cab driver's eyes slide back to the road as a fifty flashes in his hand. "Thank you, sir."

"See?" My master sits back in his seat, the cool, domineering personality he takes on in our bedroom settling over him completely. "I don't think our cab driver will mind much if you unbuckle your seatbelt and slide over here for a bit."

Swallowing hard, my mouth suddenly dry, I unbuckle and scoot to the middle seat. He reaches over and grabs the seatbelt, his knuckles purposefully dragging across my breasts as he moves to click it back in its place.

"Perfect," he says in a low voice. He takes my hand, rubbing the back of it with a callused thumb, and pulls it down to rest over his crotch.

He's already half hard, which makes my heart skip a beat and plummet down into the pit of my stomach. My thighs clench involuntarily as he puts his hand over my knee. He doesn't even need to say anything. I've been with him long enough that I know exactly what he wants, but before I do anything, I remember my role. We aren't a couple right now. We are a master and his slave. I can't do anything without him ordering me to do it.

And he doesn't order me to do anything.

He just sits there, watching the window again, as though our hands weren't in each other's laps.

It's agonizing.

I don't know how he's so calm, so enduring, but I'm becoming more of a mess with each passing second. I'm burning, and I can feel myself growing wetter, can feel the slickness of my thighs as I squirm involuntarily, waiting, waiting, waiting. He senses this, still refusing to look at me or say anything, and slides his hand up under my dress until it's resting on top of my thigh, his fingers close enough to my sex that I can feel the heat of his skin mixing with my own.

I don't know how I manage not to moan.

After another agonizing minute, he turns to me and uses his free hand to grip my wrist, using my hand to massage himself. Then he lets go and I'm left massaging, kneading, groping until he becomes hard in his pants. I reach for his belt, shaking with how much I want this, how much I need him, but he slaps my hand out of the way.

"So greedy," he says, his voice dark and smooth as ever. "We'll have to train you out of that."

He removes his hand from my thigh and I almost groan. But he grabs my wrists and tucks them behind my back. "Don't move these," he orders.

I press my lips together and nod as he smiles softly again. He tucks his fingers beneath my chin and tilts my face toward him. "Do you want me?"

I nod.

He drags his hand down my neck, over my collarbones to cup my aching breast through my sweater dress. "What would you do to have my cock inside you right now?"

"Anything," I say breathlessly.

He tweaks my nipple before dragging his hand down further, gripping my knee again.

"Such a greedy little thing. Who would have known? You look so young for your age. So unassuming. So ... innocent. And yet ..." He pulls my knee to the side, the hem of my dress hiking up to the middle of my thighs. "Look how dirty you are."

He grips my other knee and pushes it open before grinning again. "Do you think we should check? Should we show everyone just how greedy you are? I bet you're a mess under that little dress."

The cab driver's eyes are glazed over in the mirror and he's driving with one hand.

I say nothing, my chest heaving.

He grips the hem of my dress and pulls it up, whistling low as he does so. "Naughty little girl," he croons. "No panties? And you're soaking wet. You're dripping all over the seat. I should let him fuck you as an apology for your ruining his seat." He rubs the inside of my thigh with his thumb. "But I won't let him do that. Not yet. Right now, you're still mine. Do you understand?"

I can only nod.

"Say 'Yes, Sir.'"

"Y-yes ... Sir."

"Good." His thumb brushes over the lip of my pussy and I gasp, arching my back. "This reminds me you haven't been inspected yet today."

My mind can barely form half a thought. I don't care that the driver is clearly paying more attention to us than the road. I don't care that he's jacking off to the sight of my exposed pussy. If anything, it makes me wetter, hotter, more unintelligible. I mumble something, but even I don't know what I said. It just came out like a half garbled version of the alphabet.

His inspecting me is my favorite part of the day, usually.

But in public ...

In front of someone else ...

I let my eyes shut and I moan.

"No," he says, slapping the inside of my thigh. "Eyes open. Now."

I hiss, but my eyes snap open.

His smile is crooked as his hand dips back down. I moan again as he drags his index finger in a slow, torturous circle around my clit before bringing it back up, glistening with my wetness. He pops his finger in his mouth, sucking thoughtfully for a moment and nearly sending me through the roof. "Wonderful taste, as always."

He does another slow drag around my clit before popping his finger in my mouth this time, forcing me to taste myself.

I should be disgusted.

But I'm not.

The proof is dripping onto the seat beneath me.

He laughs darkly. "You're so naughty, so greedy."

He pinches one of my pussy lips between his thumb and index finger, screwing his mouth up to the side in a clinical sort of way. As though this isn't affecting him. As though he's simply doing a job. He flicks each lip in turn, and it takes effort not to convulse.

"Lips swollen. Good."

His middle finger drags down and teases the rim of my asshole. "Your waxing was not nearly as thorough as I'd hoped," he says, the disappointment making my insides twist and clench. "But still ..." He slips his finger inside my asshole and the car swerves slightly at the same time I gasp and bite down on my lip. "You're adequately smooth."

He switches hands and returns to my pussy, his finger circling my slit, pulling at it, pushing, prodding, testing. He pulls back and examines his fingers, rubbing them back and forth over each other, as though judging the quality of my own desire. "Hm."

He reaches back down and quickly slips a finger inside of me, pulling another groan from me. He pumps his finger in and out a few times before hooking it and dragging it slowly back out. "Still tight," he says, his voice clinical and disinterested. "I have some training exercises that can fix that right up."

He puts the finger back in, pumping slowly before adding another finger. His hand moves faster. My thighs are clenching around his hand, my breath coming quicker within half a minute before he pulls out and leaves me gasping.

"My my," he says, shaking his hand and licking his fingers clean again. "I forget how quickly you climax. We'll see what we can do with that."

He tilts his head back down and narrows his eyes, examining my exposed pussy closely.

There's one more thing to examine.

And I'm not allowed to cum while he does it.

But because I cum so easily, I almost always fail.

And I'm always punished.

"Think you can pass this time?"

I can only clamp down on my tongue.

"Just in case," he says before slapping my pussy hard enough to provide the cab driver with an audible smack and a sharp gasp from me, "we'll give you a little pain to counteract."

My pussy is slapped four more times before he's done, and I'm hissing through my teeth, dizzy and desperate.

"Good response," he says, examining me again. "Pink and puffy and wet. Just as you should be."

Before I can recover, he grips my aching clit between his fingers and rolls it back and forth.

I arch my back and moan loudly, the edge in sight, my mind and body racing to leap over it.

"Good and swollen," he says approvingly. "You never fail to exceed my expectations on that aspect. But I don't think you're wet enough."

I never am, I try to moan.

I fail this part.

I fail every time.

I can't keep myself from going over the edge, from reaching and then ruining that glorious climax.

He slips his middle finger inside me again and begins slowly pumping, his thumb matching each pump with a gentle but firm stroke over my clit. I'm throbbing. I'm soaking. I can feel myself dripping off his fingers and onto my thigh. But he keeps going, his pace never changing.

It's agonizing.

But still.

I can feel it.

I can feel my climax building even as I scramble to hold it back.

"Control it," he snaps. "You're not a fucking slave to it. You're a slave to me. You do what I say."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Look at me," he demands.

I obey, but the darkness in his eyes only makes it worse. Only pushes me further. I want him. I want him inside me, the fullness of him, but ... I have to earn that.

I clench my teeth and groan, trying not to scream because that's inappropriate in a taxi cab, but who the fuck cares, I'm tripping and rolling toward the edge and here it comes and here I go and—

The cab rolls to a stop and just as I think I can't hold back any longer, he pulls out and slaps my pussy again. I yelp in surprise, but the pain works. I can feel my pussy clenching, throbbing, but still just as swollen and aching. There's no relief. The climax doesn't come. It stays, it holds and I—

I did it.

I loose a breath and turn to him to find him sucking his fingers clean, the playfulness back in his eyes. "I did it," I pant. "I held back."

He grins. "Congratulations. You passed your first inspection." He leans over and closes my knees, pulling the hem of my dress back down.

Despite the fact that my body is quaking like a leaf, and despite the fact that I want to scream because of how horrific and raging this unquenched desire is, I manage a smirk. "Do I get a reward?"

He hands the breathless taxi driver the fare before kissing my temple. "You'll have to find out, won't you?"