Today I desperately wanted someone to cup my tits and play with my nipples, because I was freezing cold and I wanted warm hands squeezing and playing with me. I’m not sure if today’s story is quite as hot or filthy as some of my other erotica, but for anyone who has ever fantasised about a taxi-ride blow job, you’llĀ love the last line…
It had been a long day, but even though I was a sodden mess of rain-flattened curls and laddered tights, I couldnāt help but grin when I saw his text.
I swap a wet skirt and soggy pumps for jeans, some layered t-shirts, and a pair of boots more than capable of navigating the streetsā puddles. Remembering a conversation from last week, I put on eye liner and mascara in the hope that theyāll run when he fucks my face later, making me a messy girl who heāll taunt cruelly as he comes in the back of my throat.
Itās stopped raining when I step outside again, but that only means more people see me as I run to the end of the road to catch a bus. Half an hour later, I stumble into the pub and make my way over to the guy who has already secured us seats that are secluded enough so he can whisper dirty things in my ear, and ordered us drinks. Iām freezing cold once again, but this time, at least, it is only my cunt thatās wet.
The filthy sideways grin he gives me as I slide into the booth next to him suggests he might know that, though.
āLong day?ā he asks, pushing my glass towards me.
āAre you going to say that ācan you fuck the utter shit-ness of today out of me in the toilets?ā isnāt a good seduction?ā
I look at him over the edge of my glass as I take a drink, trying to look adorably cute and probably failing entirely.
āNot your worst line,ā he concedes, āBut you need to relax first. Cāmon, take your jacket off.ā
Thereās tone of command in his voice that makes me shiver and makes me wonder what heād do if I didnāt. Iām a good girl though, and shrug the coat off while imagining him bending me over the table to use his belt on me until heās hard, before fucking me so hard that each stroke feels like a punishment. My cunt, already aroused from imagining make-up smeared blow jobs on the bus, twitches in agreement: itās hot.
He takes my jacket from me and folds it carefully, before beckoning me closer. Obediently I scooch towards him, and am rewarded by a hand down the front of my top and warm hands groping my boob.
āWant to talk about your day?ā he asks ā casually, as though his fingers arenāt teasing my nipples.
He squeezes a little tighter as I open my mouth to reply, and I squeak. He looks at me sharply, expecting an answer. Heās already heard about my day though, having received at least a dozen texts from me and sending me back six supportive messages and a cat gif. I appreciate the fact he offers, and because he has offered, he bought me a pint, and his hand is on my boob, life suddenly seems a bit better.
āJust keep touching my tits, please?ā
He nods and for a while we stay there. When he feels me relax and wriggle a little closer to him, he starts talking, relaying an amusing scene he saw involving a street artist, a cat and a window cleaner on the way to work that morning. I smile and make stupid jokes that he laughs at, and before long both his hands are down my top. That doesnāt stop him from pouring half of my remaining pint into his glass, though, when he finishes his drink first, and telling me itās a tits-tax. I argue, but mostly because I hope heāll smack my inner thigh in the way that makes me squirm. He does.
He pulls me closer, but heās clever. Instead of it feeling like heās trying to comfort me, it feels like heās doing it for his pleasure. Playing with my tits is making him horny and I can feel his half-hard dick through his jeans if I put my hand on his crotch. I rub slowly at the denim, and he squeezes harder, twisting my nipples and daring me to continue.
āWant to come back to mine?ā he asks, and I nod almost instantly.
For some reason I don’t understand, over the last couple of weeks, some of my underwear and a toothbrush have appeared in his flat, and Iāve kidnapped one of his t-shirts to sleep in on nights I stay over after shagging. We still hadnāt talked about it until a few days ago, when he pinned my hands above my head in the hallway and kissed me until I was panting and eager for his cock ā then said he wouldnāt fuck me until we had an adult conversation.
Itās an unfairly above the belt tactic, but itās effective, and later he fucked me with a dildo while calling me filthy names, then used my cunt until he came deep inside me.
āItās raining again. If I treat us to a taxi back to my flat, want to suck me off in the back so I can mess up your make-up on the way home?ā
Oh yeah, thatĀ is why I had a clean bra and shirt at his flat.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a freelance journalist, sex writer, and professional transsexual. His work focuses on dismantling shame and queering sex.
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