Taxi Ride

It’s midsummer, the early hours of the morning, in a hot, crowded bar. I lean closer to catch what you are saying and at that moment a girl close by staggers against us, spilling white wine over my dress, chill on my hot flesh. She sways on her way, leaving us staring down at my dress, then you reached to stroke my breast, its nipple erect against the cold material, my eyes like saucers, my lips parting in surprise and lust.

You smile, a strange focused look in your eye, as you slide your arm round my waist and pull me towards you. My hand comes up to push you away but you grab my wrist and pull me towards the door, leaving my friends and my drink behind, and to my surprise I follow you willingly.

The night air feels chill on my wet dress and I shiver as you flag down a taxi. You say something I don’t catch to the driver, and stand back to let me enter, wriggling across the seat, looking back at you, wondering what you have planned for me.

The taxi is modern, and the smell of leather from the seats permeates the air. For a few seconds we sit in silence, then you reach over, pulling down the screen between us and the driver so we’re hidden from view. I turn to look at you and speak but you put a finger to my lips and I stay silent, heart racing.

Without either of us speaking we smile and I part my lips to draw in your finger, sucking and licking it. You watch me, your head on one side, and then slide in your thumb instead while you fingers grasp the side of my face, so tight that I wince. Your other hand comes up too, clamped hard, and I cry out, only to feel your hand sting my cheek and hear you hiss “not a fucking sound, bitch!” Shocked I obey, wondering what the hell I’ve let myself in for.

After a considering look, your hands still up to my face, then with the other hand your reach into your pocket and bring out a leather lace. You reach for my left wrist and I start to fight back but you’re more powerful and soon you’re kneeling on my chest and arm, pinning me down so I can’t reach to hit or scratch you though I wriggle hard still, trying to buck you off. Exasperated, you hit me again with the back of your hand harder, and while I gasp in shock you tie the lace tight round my wrist and loop it round the handle of the back door; reaching to tie the other end round my right wrist.

I’m trapped, my arms stretched out above my head, the laces biting my flesh tight, and you know it. You spread my legs roughly and kneel between them, looking down at me thoughtfully. I feel your fingers sliding inside my thong, and strangely the thought that goes through my head is that once you’ve seen I’m wearing PVC you’ll know for certain that you’re right, I am a slut.

You slide your finger inside my thong and smirk when you find how aroused I am by your mistreating me. I see you lick your finger slowly, then slide it in again, this time making me lick my own juices from your hand. As I squirm before you you slide in a second, and a third finger, watching how I react. As I murmur with pleasure you withdraw them and push my legs wider apart, making me wince again and forcing me to arch again from the pain.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a penknife, and though suddenly I’m terrified I try to not show it too much. You reach for my thong and slice it off at each side, sniffing it and putting it into your pocket. Then it’s the turn of my dress. You pull it down over my breasts so that they’re bare, and then you slash the material down from just below the neckline; in disbelief I watch as any potential remaining modesty is gone.

And then you’re lying on me, pushing your groin against mine. You idly hold the flat of the knife cold against my nipples, making them hard despite my spiralling terror. “Beg, you whore” you whisper and suddenly I’m begging, begging in terror, pleading with you not to cut me, that I’ll do anything for you, just please don’t cut me…. For a second you pause and then the knife is away from my skin and back in your pocket, I’m almost crying in relief. But instead you use your teeth, toying with my nipples like a dog on a toy, tugging them hard, and flicking them too with your soft tongue, confusing me with my responses.

Just when I am starting to moan in pleasure you stop and slap me again, keeping me in my place, you say. You look down at my dress and rip a strip off it, to use as a gag, tying it behind my head. And then you’re off me and backing off, slamming my legs together and tugging me over onto my stomach, my arms still stretched and aching.

My legs are parted again and you yank apart my ass cheeks so I’m open for you, as you toy with my ring, until I’m almost purring again, then suddenly you’re ramming your cock deep inside of me with a pain and a shock that has me screaming into my gag. I feel you holding my thighs as you thrust deep into me again and again, harder and harder, and have to bury my face into the leather to stop you punishing me further for screaming. I feel you strain and spurt deep into my ass as you groan and sink your fingers deep into the soft flesh of my thighs.

Then you’re sliding out and doing yourself up. Reaching behind me you undo the gag and lace and I look down at the tattered remnants of my dress. You laugh as you see me fingering the material and my bruised nipples.

A tap from you on the glass and a word to the driver and the taxi pulls over. Confused I look out, to see we’re right back at the bar, although it’s deserted now. I realise that it can’t be that long since we first brushed against each other but now the town centre is deserted.

You reach behind me again, but this time you open the door and push me out onto the pavement as I clutch my ruined dress in front of my breasts. You lean forward and watch me, laughing, as I look up at you. “Go home you whore!” you shout after me, but instead I stand high on my strappy black sandals and wiggle away from you, head held high, uncaring about my dress, and hear your laughter in the night.